


Say My Name

by Dangit



Category: One Piece
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Secret Identity, escort AU, sort of, zoro's rich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9150475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangit/pseuds/Dangit
Summary: Misunderstandings and mutual pining. Need I say more?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! Wow, it's been so long since I last wrote anything. Sorry about that...you know life...work...debilitating procrastination...Anyway, here's a little something-something I wrote to get back in the game. Let me know how you guys like it!! Love ya and happy new year!

Everyone wears a mask of their own making. It’s shaped through experience and memories, from a very young age, and donned at every waking moment. Perhaps not everyone recognizes this mask for what it is, but everyone has it.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s about survival. Perhaps the easiest way to truly know someone is too see them without their mask. But who would be willing to bare themselves in such fashion? To show such weakness? There are some who are so used to wearing their masks, they don’t even recognize themselves underneath it. 

Zoro recognizes his mask for what it is: a self-defense mechanism. He pretends, just like everyone else. Sometimes he’ll show a bit of himself, but only to his family and close friends, but never enough to be truly exposed.

The easiest way to be broken is to be vulnerable.

Mihawk taught him so. He also taught him how to read people, how to study their expressions and their body movements to discern what’s behind the mask. He’s so adept at reading lies, he’s forgotten how the truth sounds. But that’s the life someone in his position is supposed to lead, so he’s learned.

“Mr. Roronoa.”

Zoro blinks and looks up at his secretary.  She looks out of place, dressed primly in a navy blue pencil skirt and white blouse. She smells really nice, despite the heavy stink of sweat and old gym clothes. Zoro momentarily wonders how she’s able to keep her balance standing on matted pads with such high heels. She looks unbothered, yet expectant, ready to follow his every order.

But he’s learned not to trust her mask. Nico Robin is a very cunning woman, and she’s one of the few people he knows who’s able to change between a dozen masks. But that’s what makes her  _ very  _ good at her job, and Zoro pays more than enough to keep her happy and on his side.

“Time’s up?” he presumes, letting the heavy weights fall on the floor. He grabs his towel from where he hung it on the machine and wipes his brow. “What’s next?”

“Lunch with your sister, and then a meeting with two representatives from the Nefertari Corporation. The last thing for today is a call with your father at seven sharp.”

Oh shit, he forgot about Perona. He groans, then sighs, knowing better than to miss lunch with her. That’s more dangerous that skipping his father’s monthly call.

“Alright. But I’ll take a shower first,” Zoro says. “How much time do I have?”

“Plenty. I’ll be waiting in the car.”

It takes about twenty-minutes from the gym to arrive at Perona’s favorite restaurant, a well-known bistro downtown. Truthfully, it’s Zoro’s favorite as well, though he doesn’t attach as much sentimentality to it like Perona does. 

Back when they were younger, this was the place where their father would take them every month after school to eat. It was the one and only place where they could be like a real family, where they would talk about mundane things like school work and parties. This small bistro was where Zoro first met Mihawk, a month before the man adopted him, and three years later, it was where they both first met Perona, two months before  _ she _ was adopted.

When he walks in, she’s waiting for him at the same table from all those years ago. Zoro rolls his eyes, though he has to admit there isn’t much derision in the act.

“You’re late, Zoro,” she snaps, looking up at him. 

“I’m not,” Zoro says, taking his seat. “Did you already order?”

She nods. “Your favorite. Oh, and also—” she grabs the bottle of wine with a smile and pours some into his empty cup, “—your second favorite.”

Zoro snorts. She knows very well he hardly ever drinks wine, but she likes to joke that he’ll drink anything with alcohol in it. She’s not wrong, but still…

“How’s the lawsuit going?” he asks, looking at her from above the rim of his glass. To her credit, her expression only changes to mildly annoyed. 

“It looks like there’s nothing I can do on a legal standpoint, but I’ll figure something out,” she shrugs. “That bastard is not going to get away with this.”

He warned her about trusting that Absalom bastard, but she didn’t listen. And now they have to deal with the mess that jackass made when he leaked Perona’s nude photos and a video of the two of them having sex. Perona doesn’t really care about the world seeing her naked, to her it’s more about the betrayal. She trusted him—even claimed she loved him to Zoro and Mihawk—and he turned her into a media joke in exchange for a few thousand dollars.

This is why Zoro doesn’t trust people. This is why he hasn’t dated anyone since high school, why he hasn’t even had a one night stand. There is always some sense of intimacy during sex, even with a stranger, some type of trust. To the general public, it might not be something important, but Zoro’s face is recognizable. 

His name carries a reputation. His image represents his father’s fortune. It is not arrogance, it’s just a fact. Zoro cannot afford to trust blindly, and neither can Perona, for that matter. They both learned their lesson.

“You’re not going to say ‘I told you so’?” Perona asks, glaring at him.

“I did and I have,” Zoro shrugs. “It’s your mess, you fix it.”

“What kind of brother are you?” she snaps. “I wasn’t asking you for help, anyway. Just…can you try and get Dad off my back? I know I made a mistake, he doesn’t have to call and rub it in every day.”

“He’s not rubbing it in, he’s worrying. You know how awkward he can be about stuff like this,” Zoro shrugs. “Remember how he was when he started dating that woman?”

“Oh yeah. He made such a big deal about a relationship that lasted two months,” she snorts. 

Zoro snorts, too, but for a different reason. The only reason why that relationship lasted so little is because Perona hated that woman. She tried to keep it from Mihawk, pretended to be friendly when he was around, but Perona cannot be subtle to save her life.

“Excuse me, madam,” their waiter cuts in politely. He places a glass of champagne in front of Perona, “a gift from the gentleman over there.” He nods towards the table near the wall, where a group of men are looking at them. The tallest of the bunch, a red-hair, grins at Perona and nods at her.

“Thank you,” Perona tells their waiter, giving the red-hair a smile, before turning to Zoro. “I hate this.”

Zoro understands what she means. Ever since that leaked video, she has been receiving a lot of attention from men. This guy was kind of polite about it, but there’s no mistaking his intentions with that grin he gave her. She hasn’t told him, but Zoro knows she’s received uglier offers.

“Sorry, sis,” he says, grimacing. There’s not much he can do for her, unfortunately. He could beat up every guy that catcalls her, but she’d hate that. He could also spend millions trying to ruin Absalom’s life, but she’d also hate that. All he can do is grab the glass of champagne and drink its contents. “It isn’t even the good kind,” he scoffs.

Perona rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning now. “You’re an idiot.”

It doesn’t take long for their food to arrive after that, and they spend the next half-hour catching up on their lives. Perona doesn’t work at the company like Zoro does, but she’s in college. She travels more than Zoro does, and is currently taking a break from school to figure out what she wants as a career. 

Zoro doesn’t have much going on outside of work, so he focuses the conversation on her. It’s easy enough; Perona loves talking about herself.

Soon enough, though, it’s time for Zoro to leave and meet with the Nefertari representatives. The Nefertari Corporation is the world leader in electronics, and an expert in nanotechnology. As a company that takes pride in their state of the art weaponry, MIAD needs to secure a contract with them if they want to remain the best private military corporation in the world.

The meeting goes well, a fact he is quick to relay to his father during their monthly call. Next, Zoro will be meeting with Cobra Nefertari himself to provide him with a contract, and after that, it won’t take long for the deal to close. 

By eight, he’s done with the day’s business and is able to send Robin home. “Thank you for today’s hard work,” he tells her before she leaves. 

“You as well, sir,” she replies with a smile before walking out.

Zoro stays in his office for a bit longer, simply staring at his desk. He could go home now, drink a couple of beers while browsing channels, before heading to bed. He did that yesterday, though. And the day before that. 

He hesitates, then pulls out his phone. If he wants to have fun tonight, then there’s only one person he can call.

“Hey, Kidd.”

 

It was a bad idea. It was a  _ horrible _ idea. He should have known better than to hang out with Kidd on a Friday night. Zoro  _ hates _ clubs, and Kidd practically lives in them. Zoro drinks the last dregs of his fifth beer and glares at Kidd as the man makes out with the hot blonde he was dancing with just fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m going home!” he shouts over the music, but Kidd ignores him. The blonde is practically on his lap, her hand hidden under his shirt, humping his thigh. She’s clearly drunk, but then again, so is Kidd. 

“Kidd!” Zoro shouts, but when his friend doesn’t reply, he makes to stand up. That catches Kidd’s attention, who unsticks himself from the blonde to stop him.

“Hey! Where’re you going?”

“Home,” Zoro snaps. “This place sucks.”

“C’mon, Zoro! You’ve done nothing but drink,” Kidd says, dragging him back to his seat. “How are you supposed to have fun if you’ve turned down every person that’s asked you out?”

“I don’t like dancing,” he growls. “I just wanted to have a drink with friends.”

“You can have a drink with me, baby,” the brunette on his right slurs, placing a hand on his thigh.

Shit, he’d forgotten about her. She’s friends with the blonde, and is as wasted as her friend. “I’m good, thanks,” he says icily.

Kidd glares at him, sighing when Zoro glares back stubbornly. “Sweetheart, would you get me a drink?” he asks his companion, grinning when she pouts. “C’mon, I need to speak with my friend for a bit.”

The blonde shoots a glare at Zoro, but stands up, albeit angrily. “Fine. Let’s go get a margarita, Brit.” She snatches the hundred Kidd holds out and walks away with her friend in tow.

“You sure know how to choose them,” Zoro says sarcastically as Kidd scoots closer.

“I’m just having sex with her, dude,” Kidd shrugs. “It’s not like I’m gonna marry her. You should do the same, you know.”

“What, have sex with her?” Zoro scoffs.

“Not her, but yeah,” Kidd nods. “When’s the last time you had some?”

Zoro doesn’t answer. Honestly, he can’t remember. It’s been more than a year, though. “You know it’s not that easy,” he defends.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kidd leans back against the seat. “You know, your father isn’t gonna kill you for a night of fun.”

“This isn’t about Mihawk,” Zoro says, glaring at Kidd. “Where did you get that idea?”

“C’mon. You’re so worried about disappointing him; you do nothing but work and train these days.”

“I’m not like you, Kidd,” Zoro reminds him. “Say I fuck the next girl that gives me an offer…maybe the sex is great and she’s gone by morning and I never see her again. Or maybe I see her on the cover of a magazine a few weeks later claiming she’s pregnant or something.”

“So fuck a guy.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I know what the point is,” Kidd says. “Look…I know a guy that can help.”

Zoro glances at the black card Kidd pulls out, taking it gingerly. It’s black on one side, dark red on the other. It doesn’t have a name, only the words  _ Fool’s Paradise _ written in white cursive on it and a phone number. “What’s this?”

“He’s an escort.”

Zoro glares at Kidd. “An escort? As in prostitute?”

“No, as in escort,” Kidd snaps. “Completely legal and respectable.”

“I’m not paying for sex, Kidd,” Zoro growls. “I’m not  _ that _ desperate.”

“So you  _ are _ desperate?” Kidd raises a hand to appease him after the joke. “Look, you’re not paying for just the sex, alright? You can find sex anywhere, but these folks…they know how to stay quiet. That’s their whole gimmick, you know—the secret.”

Zoro stares at the card. It sounds kind of interesting. Like Kidd says, Zoro has no trouble finding someone to have sex willingly, but he doesn’t trust anyone enough to actually do it. But what if he pays for one of these escorts and the whole thing leaks out? It’d be worse than Perona’s leaked porno.

“I don’t think so,” he finally says, handing him back the card. 

Kidd scoffs. “Dude, they’re legit. They use fake names and your information is completely classified, so even if their stuff leaks, there’s no proof you ever hired them.”

“You use them often?” Zoro asks, curiously.

“Not as much,” Kidd shrugs. “But I can recommend this guy Mr. Heart—he’s  _ amazing _ .”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Zoro says firmly, standing up when he spies Kidd’s blonde friend approaching them. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“You’re missing out, Zoro!” Kidd yells after him. “Trust me!”

Zoro ignores him. He has to wait outside the club for fifteen minutes until his ride arrives, but it’s better than being inside the stuffy club. From there, it takes another fifteen minutes to get home, and by that time, all he wants to do is take a shower.

It’s not until afterwards, when he’s about to get into bed, that he sees the text that Kidd sent him.

_ I made you an appointment. Friday, nine pm, at the Wild Cherry. Trust me. _

Zoro reads the text twice before deleting it. Of course he’s not going.

A typical day begins at 4:30 in the morning.

The first thing he does is take a fifteen minute shower, followed by a quick breakfast eaten in his underwear. He takes a little more time getting dressed, making sure his hair is dry before he ties a white bandana around his forehead. He grabs his utility belt, security vest, and his white hard hat before he leaves his apartment at 5:15 at the latest. Then, it’s a thirty minute drive to the Yard, where Franky is already waiting for him.

“G’morning, Sanji!” the man greets jovially. “You’re driving today.”

“Where’s the site?” Sanji asks curiously.

“Downtown. This one’s gonna bring in some good hours,” Franky answers. “We’re going overtime.”

That’s not news. Most of their jobs give them enough hours to go overtime, but that’s never good news for Sanji.

Working in construction was never part of his plan. The work is hard and the hours are hellish. Not to mention he has to be extra careful to keep his hands out of danger. Last week, one of their team got sent to the ER with a crushed pinky. 

Injuries don’t happen often, but they’re a very real danger. Luckily, the worst Sanji has ever gotten are cuts and scrapes.

The rest of their crew arrive within minutes, and by six, they’re hitting the road. It takes another hour or so to arrive on site, and then it’s six hours of grueling construction work. 

Galley La mostly works contracts with the City, so Franky and his crew travel around repairing roads and highways. But this contract was made with a new industrial company building in the newly cleared fields of central Downtown, so they have to make sure everything is done perfectly. This is the perfect chance to create another life-long customer, so Franky is pushing them to their limits.

They get a half-hour lunch break that mostly consists of chips and candy purchased from the gas station down the street, then it’s back to work.

They don’t stop until 2:00 p.m., when the sun is at it’s highest and the heavy foot traffic makes it impossible to work without seriously straining safety measures. So they head back to the Yard to put up their equipment and clock out.

Most of his coworkers will head home now and probably catch up on their sleep or enjoy a home-cooked meal. Sanji heads back to his apartment, but only to take another quick shower and change into his whites. He grabs a quick bite of his breakfast’s leftovers, then heads out to his second job.

Well, it’s not a job, per se. He’s not getting paid for it. 

It’s 3:30 in the afternoon and the Baratie is in its rush hour. The small parking space is filled with cars, some of them even parked on the empty lot in front of the restaurant, and their waiting area is filled with customers willing to wait until a table gets cleared. Sanji walks around to enter through the back, where the employee’s locker room is. He sighs when he sees Zeff waiting for him by his locker, arms crossed.

“What are you doing here?” the older chef snaps.

“Are we doing this again?” Sanji asks, rolling his eyes.

“You don’t work here, brat,” Zeff says. “It’s about time you stop showing up.”

“Have you seen your waiting area?” Sanji asks. 

“Business is doing great,” Zeff nods. “So, as I’ve said…get the fuck out.”

“You know I can do the work of two chefs for you—and you’re not giving me a cent. Another two months of nights like these, and we’ll finish paying Krieg off,” Sanji reminds him quietly.

“How many times have I told you not to worry about that? I can handle Krieg.”

Sanji scoffs. “Sure, let me just  _ not _ worry—this is my home, old man! I can’t turn my worry off and on. Now, shut up, let me in, and let's get to  _ work _ .”

He doesn’t wait for Zeff’s answer, shoving his way past him into the kitchen.

The other chefs are busy preparing the piling orders, so Sanji quietly slides into his station and starts working on two orders. From the corner of his eye, he sees Zeff grab one of the order slips and head to his station.

Cooking is Sanji’s passion. Ever since he was old enough to hold a spoon in his hand, he’s been fascinated with the art of food. He didn’t get much of a chance to learn until he met Zeff sixteen years ago. The man has taught him everything he knows, and it was because of him that Sanji was able to get accepted at the prestigious New World Academy and get his culinary degree.

He graduated three years ago, top of his class and with offers to New World’s most prestigious restaurants. But he turned everyone down and joined Zeff, knowing the chef needed all the help he could get to get his precious restaurant out of debt.

But because Zeff refuses to pay in hopes of discouraging him from showing up, he had to get a second job. He met Franky in college, and the other man quickly opened up a place for him at his brother’s company, so he’s able to pay for his daily living expenses with that.

“You can go home now, Eggplant.”

Sanji glances at the clock. It’s an hour to closing and the restaurant is emptying out. He usually stays past closing to help clean up, but today’s work really tired him out. Just for today, he can do as Zeff says and leave early.

“Alright,” he answers, setting down his knife. “Let me just clean up my station—.”

“I can do that. Go on, leave,” Zeff cuts in, pushing him out of the way. “Go out and have a drink. Enjoy your youth, string bean.”

“Stop calling me that,” Sanji snaps, but it’s more out of habit than anything. At least Zeff’s stopped calling him duckling. That one was embarrassing as hell. “Fine, I’m leaving.”

He really wants to go home and sleep, since he has to wake up again at 4:30 am for another hard day of work, but the idea of getting a drink is also tempting. It’s barely eight, so even if he goes home right now, he’ll probably won’t sleep. He’s so used to going to bed near midnight, he doubts his body would let him sleep before that.

He grabs his phone from his locker and sends Nami a quick text before changing into his regular clothes. When it comes to drinking company, Nami is the best candidate. Drinking with Luffy always turns into trouble with the Police, Usopp hardly ever drinks, and Chopper is probably still working. And besides, he likes Nami the best out of all his friends anyways.

He meets with her at their usual place, a club called Wild Cherry. It’s near the University, so the majority of their clientele are young students, but because their customer base is made up of broke college students, drinks are cheap. Despite that, the Wild Cherry has an excellent reputation.

“I wasn’t expecting your call,” Nami says as they grab a seat at one of the corner booths, where it’s quieter. “It’s been ages!”

“Work’s been crazy,” Sanji says. “Zeff’s still as stubborn as ever.”

“And you’re not?” Nami snorts. “I don’t understand how you can work for free. That place is famous enough for you to be getting paid good money, Sanji.”

“Franky pays more than enough,” Sanji shrugs. Though most of  _ that _ money is going towards the Baratie’s debt. But that’s a secret only Sanji knows; both Nami and Zeff would kill him if they knew.

Nami gives him a look,  _ the look _ , but doesn’t chide him. “We’re not here to talk about work. We’re here to get drunk.  How many shots?”

“I’m not drinking a lot so—.”

“Three shots, got it,” Nami cuts in, grinning. “It’s on me, so don’t chicken out.”

“Wow, you must really want to get me drunk,” Sanji laughs. “Thanks.”

Nami winks before standing up and heading towards the bar. Sanji follows her with his gaze, glaring at the guy who starts talking to her once she reaches the bar. But Nami knows how to handle herself, so Sanji isn’t that worried. So, after a while, he lets his eyes wander around the club.

The club follows mostly a circular layout, with private booths lining the outer walls and the dance floor at the center. The bar is near the back wall, and behind it are the bathrooms and the entrance to the employee’s room. There’s a stage near Sanji’s booth where sometimes they’ll have dancers, but tonight it’s empty. There’s a second floor with the VIP seating, looking down at the dance floor.

“Sanji!” He startles and his eyes snap to Nami, who’s back with a platter filled with shots. “Guess who’s here!?”

She doesn’t wait for him to guess, not so subtly pointing across the floor. Sanji frowns, trying to understands exactly who she’s pointing at, until—.

“It’s that—?”

“Roronoa Zoro, top of your ‘Guys I’ll Go Gay For’ List!”

Sanji blushes and quickly looks away from the other guy, almost expecting him to have heard Nami. “Shh! Oh my god, Nami,” he groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“What? You know he’s into guys too, right?”

“Nami, I made that list while I was blackout drunk in college,  _ way _ before I came to terms with the fact that I’m bi,” Sanji reminds her. 

“So you’re telling me you wouldn’t sleep with that piece of… _ hotness. _ ” Nami stares at Zoro for a moment, lower lip caught between her teeth, before she comes to herself and looks at Sanji. “Sanji, if you don’t head over there, I will.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Roronoa Zoro is the oldest son of Dracule Mihawk, the founder of an international private military corporation. Not only is he filthy rich, he is also CEO of his father’s company, an accomplished athlete, and an iconic figure—all at age twenty-five.

Sanji has had a crush on him since freshman college year, when Zoro participated in the year’s olympiads—but it’s the type of crush someone has on a famous person. Y’know, the type when you know it’s never going to happen in a million of years, yet you keep telling yourself that if they were right in front of you, and they gave you a chance, you’d totally go for it.

Even before coming to terms with his sexuality, Sanji had no problems admitting his attraction to a few famous men, finding comfort in their unattainability—it’s like his crush on Boa Hancock…nice to fantasize about, but completely aware that it will never happen.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Nami shrugs.

“Uh, he rejects me and laughs in my face?” Sanji says off the top of his head. “He punches me in the face?”

“You are such a pessimist,” Nami scoffs. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Nami, wait!” 

She looks at him, waiting patiently for him to let go of her arm. Sanji glances at Zoro. The guy is drinking alone in his booth, and even though Sanji and Nami are not the only ones who recognize him—there’s hardly a person who doesn’t recognize him—no one has approached him. 

“When he turns me down, you’re buying me enough shots to forget this night ever happened,” Sanji tells Nami, trying to ignore the way his heart is thumping inside his chest.

Nami smiles widely, excited. “Yes! Of course. And if you end up fucking him, you are going to tell me every  _ single detail _ .”

Sanji’s face slackens. “Is it a bad time to realize I’ve never had sex with a guy?”

Nami rolls her eyes. “Don’t tell him that. Just…go.”

He nods. Yeah, it doesn’t matter. He’s not getting anywhere with him, anyway. But at least he’ll get a fun story out of this, yeah? Once he’s older, he can joke with his friends— _ hey, remember that time I asked Roronoa Zoro out? _ —he’ll laugh and remember what an idiot he was when he was young.

Up close, he looks a lot younger than in the cover of magazines, but his eyes looks just as cold. Especially when he’s looking right at Sanji.

He realizes he still has a shot glass in his hand and quickly tips it back before speaking.

“Wanna dance?”

His expression doesn’t change, he just drinks his own drink—whiskey? “I prefer if we just talk.” Sanji stares at him stupidly. Was he turned down or not? Zoro raises his eyebrows, then nods to the seat next to him. 

Sanji quickly sits down, then pretends like he’s not as excited as he is. “So…what brings you here?”

That’s a stupid question. It’s a club, people come to dance and drink in clubs. Zoro isn’t dancing, but he’s clearly drinking. What a stupid question.

“A friend…recommended I try it,” Zoro answers, his gaze fixed somewhere on the dance floor. Or maybe on some _ one _ . “To be honest, I wasn’t going to show up.”

“Not your cup of tea, I gather?” Sanji smiles a bit. Zoro doesn’t look like the type of guy who enjoys clubs. Sanji doesn’t know anything about him, but he always pictured him as the type to drink alone. 

“I don’t have anything against it,” Zoro shrugs. “But no…not really.”

So he’s here with a friend? Sanji glances around the club, but even though a few people are looking at them (Nami not so subtly), no one looks like they’re here with him.

“But you’re really hot, though. I can see why Kidd likes you.”

Sanji turns to look at Zoro so fast, his neck creaks. “I’m sorry?” Did Zoro just call him hot? And what kids?

“So how does this work?” Zoro asks, leaning back to rest his arms on the booth’s backrest, legs crossed. “Is there like a contract? Do I pay up front? Can I just try it once?”

“A contract?” he asks, confused. What’s that supposed to mean?

“I’ve never hired an escort service before,” Zoro says, sounding like he’s explaining himself. “Kidd recommended you very highly, so I’m sure you can guide me through it?”

Sanji stares at Zoro, mind frozen. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He opens it again, changes his mind, and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, would you excuse me…? I just need to…” he waves towards the general direction of the men’s rooms and Zoro nods.

“Oh sure,” he says. 

Sanji gives him a strained smile, which quickly falls as soon as he turns away. He meets Nami’s gaze from across the floor—seriously, Zoro can’t feel her burning gaze?—and quickly walks towards the bathroom.

“Get out,” he snaps at the only other person inside. 

“What? Hey—oi, what’s your problem!”

Sanji doesn’t listen to him, pushing him out even as the guy tries to zip his fly up, and slams the door shut behind him. He’s paced the floor twice before Nami enters.

“Are you getting laid tonight?”

“He thinks I’m a prostitute!”

Nami blinks at him. “What?”

“He thinks I’m a goddamn escort!” Sanji yells, still pacing. “That fucking bastard! Who does he think he is? Who does he think  _ I am _ ? He’s all like,  _ do I pay you now?  _ The nerve of this guy!”

He stops and glares at Nami when she laughs. “This isn’t funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” Nami says, still snickering. “So, are you fucking him?”

Sanji stares at her incredulously. “No!”

“Why not?”

“Why not…? Nami, he thinks I’m a—.”

“An escort, yes you’ve said,” she shrugs. “So?”

“So!”

“Sanji, it’s a one night stand, not a goddamn date,” Nami snaps. “Honestly, I don’t see you losing in this scenario. You get to fuck a guy you’ve been fantasizing about for years  _ and _ you’re getting paid for it.”

“Yes, but I’m  _ not _ an escort!”

“So what?” she shrugs. “It’s completely legal. Or do you have something against escorts?”

“Of course I don’t,” Sanji snaps, a bit more calm now. “I just…it’s like we’ll only sleep together because it’s a  _ job _ .”

“Did you want feelings involved or something?” Nami scoffs. “Sanji, you met him literally five minutes ago.”

Yeah, that’s true. Sanji isn’t expecting feelings or anything—he doesn’t like Zoro, he’s just…infatuated? Is that the right word for what he feels?—but sleeping with Zoro while he thinks he’s an escort is like…a chore.

He doesn’t realize he’s said that out loud until Nami scoffs again. “Why don’t you look at it this way? If he’s paying to have sex with you, then that means he finds you hot enough to spend money on you. A guy that rich isn’t going to waste money on just  _ any _ guy, you know. He’s  _ choosing  _ you.”

“Would you sleep with him for money?” Sanji asks and Nami laughs.

“Hon, I’d make a career out of it.”

Sanji sighs, calmer. Nami always knows what to say to make him think things through. He’s usually great at it, but when his emotions get involved, he loses track of things. “I’ll have sex with him, cross of it off my bucket list, and throw his money back in his face in the morning.”

“Okay, okay, okay… _ or _ ...you could give  _ me _ the money.”

“In his face,” Sanji reiterates and Nami pouts.

“Fine, but I’m still expecting a  _ detailed _ report!”

Zoro is drinking a new glass of whiskey when Sanji comes up to him.

“Hey, I was thinking—.”

“This is how it’s going to work,” Sanji interrupts, putting his hands on the table and leaning close to him. “We’re going back to your place, I’ll blow your fucking mind, and  _ then _ you decide if you wanna hire me. How’s that sound?”

Zoro’s eyes are on his lips, but they snap up to meet his gaze at the question. He grins, and Sanji can’t help but shiver.

“That sounds just fine.”

 

He should’ve rented a hotel in advance, but he didn’t actually expect things to turn out this way. Despite deleting the text, Kidd’s words kept running through his mind all through the week, until he ended up just giving in and showing up at Wild Cherry.

Burning curiosity, he supposes. 

He doesn’t know if he’s glad he met the blond or not. He’s attractive—understatement of the century, but Zoro is having a hard time finding the correct adjective. The fact remains, however, that he’s a stranger.

Zoro feels a bit overdressed compared to the other man, who’s only wearing dark jeans and a blue shirt that makes his blue eyes pop. He smells faintly of cigarettes, with some kind of spicy scent underneath that reminds Zoro of something, though he isn’t entirely too sure what. His legs are long, and Zoro  _ really  _ wants to touch them.

“What should I call you?” he asks and the man glances at him. He’s been staring at the streets passing by through the window. Maybe trying to memorize the way to Zoro’s house? Good luck, even Zoro has trouble finding his own place. This city is a fucking maze.

The man smirks. “You can call me Mr. Prince.”

“You’ve been doing this work long, Mr. Prince?”

He shrugs. “Not long, no. Worried?”

“Not at all,” Zoro answers honestly. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

Mr. Prince gives him a strange look, then returns his gaze to the streets. “I didn’t expect someone like you to need…services like mine.”

Zoro frowns. “Really? Don’t you guys cater especially to guys like me?” Kidd did say their whole gimmick was secrecy. Does Mr. Prince think he’s doing this for the sex? Well, the sex  _ is _ a big deal, especially with this guy.

“I need privacy,” Zoro explains when Mr. Prince remains quiet. “I don’t have the ideal freedom for choosing my partner. I have a company to represent, and after my sister’s scandal…well, you understand why I can’t just find a partner randomly.”

“That was fucked up, what happened to her,” Mr. Prince says. “Men like Absalom are cowards.”

“We agree, then.”

The conversation pauses as the car stops. Zoro recognizes the parking lot, which is thankfully empty. He has a beach house near the coast that he prefers, but he’s not going to bring a stranger to his home. The penthouse that he rents here should be more than good enough for Mr. Prince.

He can’t help but feel a bit nervous as the silence continues on their way up to his apartment, especially when he opens the door and Mr. Prince studies the apartment.

It’s a large and empty place. Zoro only rents this place because it’s conveniently close to his work and because the owner hired Zoro’s security to protect the building. With his own men guarding the place, he has no doubt that no paparazzi are going to sneak in. 

“Nice place,” Mr. Prince says, turning back towards him.

“Yeah,” is the only thing Zoro can say before the other man kisses him. He tastes like alcohol and cherries. His lips are thin but soft, though his mustache scratches Zoro a bit. He’s a good kisser, Zoro muses.

Mr. Prince pulls back first, grinning, and grabs Zoro’s hand to tug him further inside. “C’mon, show me your room.”

Yes, yes, yes, this is what he wants. Zoro kisses him again, ignoring the way Mr. Prince huffs a laugh into his lips, and wraps his arms around his waist. He’s slender but not skinny, and when he finally lets himself touch that ass he’d been staring at, he’s pleased to feel firm muscle. Mr. Prince gasps, grunting when Zoro pushes him against the wall.

“Sorry,” Zoro whispers, looking up to open his bedroom door before pushing Mr. Prince through.

“Has it been a while for you?” Sanji laughs.  His lips are as cherry red as they taste, and his eyes look darker. Zoro thinks  _ handsome _ , but that’s still not the right adjective.

“So what?” he snaps, a bit annoyed by the light mocking tone in his voice. He pushes him back and Mr. Prince laughs as he falls on the bed. His hair is like a golden halo around his head, his skin almost as pale as the white sheets underneath him.

Damn, why would Kidd keep a secret like this all to himself?

“I wanna suck you,” Zoro says, his eyes trailing from Mr. Prince’s collarbones, down his smooth chest, to the hardness in his jeans. He wants to do more than suck him, but he needs to start somewhere.

“Alright,” Mr. Prince says, and he looks almost embarrassed.

Oh, he’s good. He’s  _ damn good _ . How many men haven’t fallen for that? Not many, Zoro thinks, if at any.

He kisses the pale neck, tasting salt and earthiness. He drags his lips down the smooth skin, loving the little sounds the other lets out, and lets his hands roam. Mr. Prince holds his shoulders, but doesn’t guide him, just touching. Zoro pulls at the hem of the blue shirt and Mr. Prince gets the message, raising a little to let Zoro undress him.

“Damn,” Zoro whispers, staring at the other man. His skin is smooth, not as pale as he’d would’ve thought, and not as soft. He’s muscled, the way Zoro is, from hard work and hard training. He has scars, thin little nicks and scratches strewn over the torso and there’s a bruise on his hip.

_ Did someone else leave that? _

Zoro shakes his head, ignoring the intrusive thought. Instead, he covers the bruise with his hand and leans down to kiss Mr. Prince’s chest, running his lips down, down, scraping the skin with his teeth.

The man is trembling, not saying a word but those sounds—those  _ sounds  _ get to Zoro.

He kisses and licks, tasting a trail down to the waistband of the fitting jeans, and grinds down when Mr. Prince thrusts up gently, eager. Looking up, expecting to meet blue eyes, Zoro catches Mr. Prince with his eyes closed, lower lip bitten, and hands knotting the sheets.

“Lift your hips,” Zoro orders, pulling on the jeans, and the blonde obeys.

“You’re a tease,” Mr. Prince accuses, pouting.

“Am I?” Zoro smirks.

It’s been a while since he’s had sex, so he’s not sure how long he’s going to last. The least he can do is make this enjoyable for Mr. Prince—and honestly, Zoro enjoys giving head. Especially when someone looks as eager as Mr. Prince does.

“F-fuck!”

_ What an honest response _ , Zoro thinks, as he laps at the tip. Mr. Prince doesn’t taste like much—Zoro was expecting the same earthiness as the rest of his skin—but he’s hot and hard. Zoro holds his hips down as he takes the blond in all the way, enjoying the reaction.

He’s not as good as he can be, he knows, but Mr. Prince still reacts like it’s the best blow job ever. He’s a good actor, Zoro supposes; after all, what kind of escort complains of bad sex? At least to his client’s face?

Zoro stops for a moment, panting, and reaches to his bedside table, opening the first, then second drawer looking for the lube he knows is there. He’s a bit worried for a moment, but then finds it as well as a pack of condoms set neatly next to it.

He didn’t buy them, but he doesn’t want to think about Robin or her efficiency as an assistant right now. Or the fact that she knows his size.

“Hurry up,” Mr. Prince whines, breathily, needy.

Zoro almost swallows his tongue at the sight of  _ him _ .

Face and chest red, eyes blown wide and hair in complete disarray. There’s a new bruise on his hips, an exact match to Zoro’s hand, and the already existing one is darker. He is completely naked, weeping cock resting against his stomach, legs spread open, circling Zoro’s fully clothed form.

Impatient, Mr. Prince grabs Zoro by the lapels of his suit and drags him down for a wet kiss. Zoro had planned on sucking him through the preparation, but this is better.

He can feel every gasp, every hiccup, every moan against his lips, and it feels  _ real _ . Mr. Prince is tight, mind-blowingly so, and burning hot. His hips rise with the movement of Zoro’s fingers, his kisses soft and quick—and when Zoro finally drives in, pushing against the initial resistance, Mr. Prince hugs him close and moans into his ear.

“ _ Fuck…yes…Zoro _ …”

Zoro brings his knees up, resting on them, bringing Mr. Prince to his lap causing him to arch, driving power into his thrusts, watching the man gasp. He’s so close, he hasn’t done this for a long time - surely that’s the reason why it feels so good? Better than he’s ever felt with anyone. 

Strong, muscular legs wrap around his hips, Mr. Prince’s arms come up to wrap around his chest, and he lets his own hands wander.

Zoro can feel the contours of a scar on his lower back, deep and broad, but his hand slithers past that to grab his ass, squeeze it in his hands and pull the blond closer.

Mr. Prince is a screamer. And a biter. He apologizes with small kitten licks to the bleeding wound he leaves on Zoro’s shoulder, and smiles at him, satisfied, when he lays down next to him.

They lay in silence, sweaty and sticky, but comfortable, until Zoro decides to stand up and get out of his clothes. He can feel Mr. Prince’s stare on him as he walks across the room to the bathroom, where he wipes himself down with a wet towel and wets a second one for him.

“That’s a nasty scar.”

Zoro looks down at himself, then shrugs. He hands the moist towel to Mr. Prince, who uses it to wipe the mess on his stomach (and after a grimace, the mess on his ass).

“You got one, too. On your back.”

“Fell off a roof.” Mr. Prince grins at him, almost proud. “Broke my back;  I was  _ this _ close to losing the use of both legs.”

“Must’ve been bad.”

Mr. Prince shrugs. He tosses the towel on top of the dirty clothes Zoro took off, then rolls on his side to look Zoro in the face. “So, how was I?”

Zoro raises an eyebrow. “You know, I did most of the work.”

“I could fuck you next, if you want,” Mr. Prince grins. “I promise to be gentle.”

Zoro rolls his eyes. “It was…good.” Understatement. “How much do I owe you?”

“How much do you think I’m worth?”

Mr. Prince is grinning at him, but there’s something… _ off _ . Zoro studies him, but he can’t tell what the other man is thinking. “I’ll pay whatever price you name.”

Mr. Prince blinks at him, then bursts out laughing, sitting up. “Wow, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” Zoro says, sitting up too, though he doesn’t know why. It feels like Mr. Prince wants to leave the bed, though he’s not moving. “I want to hire you. We could do this once a week, here in my place. Or we could use your terms. Do you have like a contract or something?”

Mr. Prince glances at him, then looks down at the heap of dirty clothes they left behind. “Not really,” he mutters. “I don’t…do this much.”

“So what are your terms?” Zoro asks and is he feeling nervous!?

No, that can be it. The sex was good, and he definitely likes Mr. Prince, but it’s not like Zoro will pay some outrageous fee to have sex with the guy.

“How about…eight?”

“Huh…” that’s actually not that bad, Zoro muses. He expected something stupidly expensive. “I can do eight grand a night.”

Mr. Prince stares at him quietly, then blinks quickly. “I only take cash.”

“Not a problem,” Zoro shrugs. “You want it right now or in the morning?”

“You want me to spend the night?”

“Is that extra?” Zoro wonders. “I have twelve grand on me, you think that’s enough?”

“No!” Mr. Prince exclaims, surprising him. Zoro stares at him, watching the red fade from his cheeks. “Eight…t-thousand is fine. I just have another…client…in the morning.”

Oh. Well, that makes sense. Zoro can’t possibly be his only client, the guy is ridiculously attractive. He probably has a waiting list or something.

“Do you provide the contract?” Zoro asks suddenly.

“Contract?”

“You know, for this,” Zoro says, frowning. “I don’t want this getting out. This is strictly between you and me, yeah? You’re getting paid for that.”

“Oh, yeah. Keep it a secret, I know,” Mr. Prince laughs strangely. “Nah, you can do that. Lay out your terms or whatever.  I’ll just sign it.”

So he’s really going to do this. Roronoa Zoro is going to hire an escort. He’s paying for sex. If any of this ever gets out, the press is going to have a goddamn field day.

He glances at Mr. Prince, distracted by the smattering of kiss marks on his shoulder. His lips are still a bit swollen and very much red, almost begging for Zoro to kiss them. And he can do that—much more than that, even—as much as he wants, and as often as he wants.

Well, if he’s going to do this, he might as well gets his money’s worth.

 

When Zoro wakes up, Mr. Prince is gone.

It’s still early, which either means Zoro just missed him, or the guy left in the middle of the night.

He gets up and trudges to his bathroom to take a shower, taking the time to just stand under the warm water and breathe. He feels good—his body is relaxed but his muscles have that nice ache of a night’s training. He feels refreshed, like he actually had a good night’s sleep.

When he walks back into his bedroom to change, he notices that the clothes he threw on the floor last night have been picked up and put with his other dirty laundry. And when he’s about to leave, a container on his kitchen bar catches his attention.

A note is stuck to the top of the lid.  _ Had a great night. Call me - Mr. Prince. _ Below the neat cursive is a phone number, and inside the container is what looks like brown fried rice with bacon, topped with avocado slices and easy-over eggs.

It looks delicious and tastes even better. The yellow note goes into his back pocket before he leaves.

His day is spent like any other—meetings, paperwork, some gym hours, and a lot of calls. The note in his pocket is burning a hole, but Zoro tells himself that calling Mr. Prince so soon after the night is desperate. 

And he isn’t desperate. 

It’s just that sex with the guy was great—it was  _ fantastic _ —and Zoro may also kind of like him. You know, as a person. Not romantically, just personality wise.

There’s also the contract. He’s pretty good at drafting them himself, but if he wants the thing to be air-tight, he’ll probably need Robin’s input. And while his secretary won’t make any comments or make him feel judged in any way, Zoro still feels a bit weird about having her draft him a sex-contract.

He still asks her, though. And she does it.

So he waits the week. He goes through his daily routine of work, train, work (and the random call from Perona), before finally, a week passes.

Mr. Prince answers fairly quickly.

“ _ Hello?” _

Zoro suddenly realizes that he should’ve called sooner. What if Mr. Prince has something—or in his case some _ one— _ planned already? Then Zoro will have to wait even longer. Damn.

“Mr. Prince, this is…this is Roronoa Zoro,” he speaks firmly and calmly, his CEO voice. He knows this voice down pat, learned from years of watching his father deal with others.

“ _ Mr. Roronoa, yes. I was expecting your call _ .”

Why does his name sound like… _ that _ …coming out of his mouth?

“I have the contract ready. Can you come tonight?” Probably not, but Zoro should still ask. Just in case.

“ _ Sure. I’ll be happy to. Nine sound okay?” _

“Eight is better,” Zoro says quickly. “Will you be able to stay the night as well?”

There’s a short pause, then “ _ Yes, I can. I will see you tonight, Mr. Roronoa.” _

_ “ _ Yes, alright. See you then.”

He hangs up and looks around his apartment. It’s clean, of course. The complex hires a cleaning crew that comes in when Zoro’s at work. He doesn’t have many personal belongings, the only room in the entire apartment that has any sort of personality to it is his gym.

He stops by his bedroom and checks that the lube and condoms are easily accessible. His sheets are clean, his bed made. He has enough clean towels, he has enough cash on him to pay Mr. Prince…how is he supposed to kill three hours now?

In the end, he ends up doing what he always does to kill time: workout. He doesn’t push himself as far as he usually does, since he doesn’t want to tire himself out, but he does work up a nice sweat, so he also takes a shower.

Mr. Prince knocks on his door five minutes early. He’s dressed in form-fitting dark jeans and a white button-up shirt with the two top buttons undone, hinting at the pale skin of his chest.

“Well, I feel overdressed now.” Mr. Prince smirks and Zoro realizes he answered the door dressed only in his briefs.

“I just took a shower,” he explains, stepping back to let him walk inside. “Do you want something to drink…?”

Mr. Prince’s smirk broadens and he steps close to Zoro, his fingers lightly brushing the waistband of his underwear. “Why don’t we get started instead?” he whispers, lips brushing against his. 

Straight to the point, no awkward pleasantries. These are the benefits of hiring an escort, Zoro supposes, as Mr. Prince closes the gap and kisses him. It’s like the best parts of a relationship combined with the best parts of a one-night stand.

He groans into the kiss as Mr. Prince’s hand rubs against his hard-on, his fingers massaging his balls while his palm presses against his hardening cock. Zoro bites the swelling lower lip as he pulls away, and grabs the blond's ass possessively with his hands, squeezing down hard.

Mr. Prince lets out a surprised sound and immediately turns a bright red and hides his face in Zoro’s neck.

“Take me to your bed,” he whispers, needy, and Zoro feels like coming then and there.

But he pulls back, knowing he has to do it before they start doing anything else. “Wait, I have the contract for you to sign.”

He finds his bag on one of the kitchen stools, the contract slipped between other paperwork. Fetching a pen in one of the side pockets, he hands it to Mr. Prince.

“So basically the terms of the contract are just—.”

“Don’t really care,” Mr. Prince interrupts brusquely, and scrawls a messy signature above the dotted line before grabbing Zoro’s face and giving him a hard, wet kiss. “Take me  _ now _ .”

How is he supposed to deny a request like  _ that _ ?

It’s hard to walk and kiss at the same time, but they somehow manage to do it. Mr. Prince is kissing him, touching him, desperately, and Zoro feels a bit overwhelmed. It feels almost as if the other man was looking forward to this almost as much as Zoro was.

Is this part of the act? Making Zoro feel needed, wanted, beyond the money? There’s no need for that, if he is; Zoro is very aware of the fact that theirs is a business relationship.

He gets pushed back on the bed, and when he tries to sit up, Mr. Prince pushes him back down and climbs on top of him.

“I’ll do the work,” he says, looking down at Zoro, an embodiment of sin itself. “You just lay there and look pretty.”

Zoro wants to argue, but the words die in his throat as Mr. Prince begins unbuttoning his shirt. He does it quickly, no hint of a tease, but Zoro still feels it in his gut as creamy skin is revealed. The bruises on his hips are yellowing now, but there’s a new one on his shoulder—a bite, maybe?

He stops thinking of it soon enough, once Mr. Prince starts to ride him hard and fast.

He moves easily, his hips rocking and rolling against Zoro’s; his fingers dig into his chest, and his cock rubs against his stomach, leaving a trail of precum on Zoro’s skin. He moans and curses, calls out Zoro’s name, and screams a chant of ‘oh my god’ before he comes.

He takes his pleasure, and he looks beautiful doing it.

“I fucking needed that,” he says at the end, rolling off Zoro and laying next to him, voice and face dreamy.

“Me, too,” Zoro admits, still breathless.

There’s a moment of silence, then Mr. Prince rolls on his side, pushing Zoro’s hand down to lay his head on Zoro’s shoulder, and his hand rest on Zoro’s chest. 

Are they... _ cuddling…? _

“How did you get this?” The blonde asks, his fingers trailing his scar.

Zoro blinks down at him, but Mr. Prince isn’t looking at him, his eyes following the pattern his fingers leave on his skin.

“I told you mine,” he says when Zoro remains silent.

“I…was sparring,” Zoro answers, confused as to why. If somebody would ask, he’d probably say he had no reason - why not answer a question so simple? It’s not like it’s a secret. “I love swordsmanship—kendo, in particular—and so does my adoptive father. He saw it as a way for us to bond at first, but I took it too far. This was the result.”

“So your father did this to you?” He doesn’t sound judging, but Zoro’s heard it a thousand times before. People don’t get it.

“He didn’t  _ do _ it to me. It happened to me, and he was there,” Zoro explains. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I do,” Mr. Prince says, surprising him. “A friend pushed me off that roof. It was an accident though, so maybe it wasn’t the same as what happened to you.”

“What were you guys doing on a roof?” Zoro asks, curious.

He feels Mr. Prince shrug. “He was trying to jump. I stopped him.”

“Oh.”

What is he supposed to say to that?

“How old were you when you were adopted?” Mr. Prince asks, looking up at him.

He’s closer now, one leg thrown over Zoro’s hip, and his own arms is wrapped around the man’s shoulders. It feels…comfortable. Mr. Prince is warm and his body, despite being muscular and hard, molds perfectly against Zoro’s.

They’re really cuddling, and Zoro really doesn’t mind it.

“What’s with the sudden interest in me?” he asks, suspicious despite himself. He’s learned the hard way that no one is this curious without some hidden agenda.

“Well, excuse  _ me _ but my stamina isn’t up to eight hours of continuous sex,” Mr. Prince says sarcastically. “I thought we could talk between breaks.” Zoro is still suspicious, and apparently it shows on his face, because Mr. Prince sighs and continues, “I’m not going to tell anyone, Zoro. I’m not only good for sex, you know. You can tell me anything, I won’t betray your trust. It’s my job.”

“Tell me something about yourself, then,” Zoro says defiantly and stubborn.

“I was adopted, too,” Mr. Prince answers easily, surprising him. “But unlike you, I’m guessing, I know my real parents. My father is alive and well, and I haven’t spoken to him in fifteen years. My mother died when I was eight.”

“I was nine,” Zoro says. “And no, I never met my parents. I grew up in an orphanage, amongst twenty or so other kids, until Mihawk took me in. Perona was adopted three years later, when I was twelve.”

“Do you ever think of your parents?” Mr. Prince asks curiously. “Wonder who they are?”

“Not really,” Zoro answers honestly. “I mean, I guess I did when I was younger, but not anymore.”

“Lucky,” Mr. Prince says. “I knew my parents, and I still thought of them every day. I wonder how different things would have been if my mother had never died, if my father had never…well, it wasn’t an easy transition for me, to say the least. I was a difficult child to my old man, honestly.”

“So was I,” Zoro laughs. “Man, I  _ hated _ Mihawk at first. There was this old man who used to live by the orphanage who was kind of like my first father. He had a dojo and used to give classes. His daughter, Kuina, was the best in the whole class,  and it was my dream to beat her. He gave me free classes, fed me, gave me advice. Always welcomed me in.”

He stops talking, remembering that old little dojo. It’s been awhile since he last thought of Koshiro and Kuina. It hurts less, he realizes in surprise, to think of them now. He can still recall the feel of cool wood against his skin, the smell of a fresh garden, the taste of jasmine tea and rice balls. If he concentrates hard enough, he can even feel the pain of fresh callouses on his hands.

He can still smell Mr. Prince’s cologne, though, with that hint of nicotine, and the warmth of his body.

“When I found out I was getting adopted and that I was going to be taken away, I was pissed,” he continues, filling up the silence Mr. Prince had left intact. “But Mihawk was rich, influential, and he was a good match for me, so the adoption papers went through easily. He was working in the Middle East then, so that’s where I went. When we came back, a few months before Perona was adopted, I found out Kuina had died in a car accident a few months after I left and Koshiro had moved back to Japan shortly after.”

“Did you ever look for him?” Mr. Prince asks quietly, and Zoro shakes his head.

“For what reason? I doubt he remembers me,” he answers. “He had dozen of students.”

He expects Mr. Prince to insist on the matter, tell him something corny like ‘ _ I’m sure he still remembers you’ _ , but he doesn’t. He just moves closer to him and kisses him.

This time, they do it with Mr. Prince on his hands and knees, screams muffled against pillows, as Zoro thrusts into him hard from behind.

It’s the first time Zoro wishes he knew Mr. Prince’s actual name.

 

“Where did you learn how to cook?”

Sanji blinks, mind still numb with traces of his last orgasm, and tries to concentrate on Zoro’s words. His hips ache like a motherfucker, since Zoro discovered his flexibility a few days ago, and has been trying out a few positions Sanji had never even thought about.

He needs to pick up his morning yoga routine.

“I’ve always liked it,” he answers without thinking, letting himself be hugged against Zoro. He could feel Zoro’s hesitance against cuddling at first, but now the man initiates it as often as Sanji does. He runs a bit hot, so sometimes it feels a bit uncomfortable to Sanji, but like hell is he complaining. Not with the way it feels to have Zoro pressed up against him.

“So you’re self-taught?” Zoro asks curiously.

“Not exactly,” Sanji answers. “My old man taught me most of what I know. I was horrible at it before he showed me how. Why’d you ask?”

“The breakfast you leave every morning,” Zoro explains. “It’s  _ really _ good.”

Sanji snorts. “It could be better if you’d actually stocked your fridge.”

Zoro shrugs, ignoring him. “You could even do it professionally. Have you ever thought of it?”

Oh, the irony. Well, he supposes he’s technically not a professional chef, since Zeff hasn’t officially hired him. “I’ve thought of it,” he says flippantly. 

“I could talk to some people, I know this restaurant—.”

“Zoro, do you perhaps want to fire me?” Sanji interrupts, glaring at the man. He doesn’t need a job as a chef at  _ any _ restaurant, he has the Baratie. And does Zoro have a problem with him being an escort?  _ He’s _ the whole reason why Sanji is even pretending in the first place!

“Sorry,” Zoro says after a minute. “I guess it’s none of my business.”

“It really isn’t,” Sanji replies icily.

There’s a short silence, made even more awkward by the fact they still wrapped in a warm embrace, neither one with any intention of moving.

“So what’s with the bruises?” Zoro suddenly asks, surprising him. “I mean, that’s still probably none of my business, I was just wondering because you have a different one every week, and always in a different place, though I guess there’s that one that you always have on your leg, but—.”

“You’re rambling,” Sanji interrupts, smirking when the other man shuts his mouth audibly. “I could ask you the same. You have plenty yourself.”

“These are from training,” Zoro explains. “I’m trying to learn judo at the moment.”

“Sparring,” Sanji says, pointing at himself. “Started off with Savate, moved to Capoeira, and now I’m practicing Krav Maga.”

“So we could, technically, spar against each other?”

Sanji blinks at the ceiling, then twists to sit atop Zoro, surprising the other man and holding him down. “It’s gonna cost ya’.”

“How much?” Zoro frowns confusedly up at him.

Sanji rolls his eyes, sighing. “I mean physically,” he explains. “I’ll kick your ass.”

“I’ll like to see you try,” Zoro snarls, his mouth twisting into a daring grin.

Sanji glares back at him, still holding him down, and suddenly very aware of the way he’s pressing against Zoro’s semi. He grinds down softly experimentally, and doesn’t miss the way Zoro’s eyes flick down and then up again.

“Later?” he suggest.

“Later,” Zoro agrees, already bringing him down for a fierce kiss.

 

His late night job with Zoro is costing him, but Sanji can’t picture himself quitting. He’s getting less hours of sleep, so he’s taken to taking naps in between his job with Franky and his job at the Baratie. In fact, sometimes he takes advantage of the fact that Zeff won’t accept him at his kitchen to show up late—or even sometimes not show up at all.

Which is a bad idea, as he finds out soon enough.

“Another late fee!?” he yells, glaring at Zeff. “Who does that fucking bastard think he is?”

“A thug,” Zeff says, ignoring Sanji’s temper. “It’s how he keeps his business going, eggplant. Didn’t I teach you anything?”

“Oh you mean back in the day when  _ you _ were the big bad thug?” Sanji says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “If I remember correctly, you stopped that right after you adopted me. Father of the year, really, if it weren’t for all the physical abuse.”

“Those kicks didn’t hurt you one bit,” Zeff snorts. “Just made you more stubborn. Is that why you keep showing up here?”

“This is our restaurant—.”

“This is  _ my _ restaurant!” Zeff cuts in, finally looking up at him. “Not yours, not ours,  _ mine _ . It’s was my decision to borrow from Krieg, and it’s my debt. I just can’t figure out how to get rid of you just yet.”

Sanji grits his teeth. He knows what his father is doing—after all, he knows what kind of person Zeff is—but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t hurt. Why does Zeff keep pushing him away? Why is he still insisting on doing this on his own? Doesn’t he trust Sanji? Does he really believe there’s nothing Sanji can do?

“Well, you’re right about those kicks making me more stubborn, ‘cause I ain’t leaving you,” Sanji snaps. “I’ll get you the money you need.”

“What are you going to do?” Zeff says derisively, but he looks up when Sanji doesn’t answer. “Eggplant? What are you—Sanji, what are you going to do!?” he shouts after him, but Sanji isn’t stopping.

He promised himself he wouldn’t touch the money Zoro gives him, but he can’t let the old geezer give up his life’s work. He can always figure out how to pay Zoro back. Anything’s better than remaining in Don Krieg’s pocket.

\---

Business with the Nefertari is solidifying, only the last couple of kinks needed to be smoothed out before the contract is signed. Still, the deal is pretty much closed, so Zoro decides he needs to celebrate.

His first choice is Mr. Prince, but the man turns him down. There is a…prior engagement, Zoro supposes. 

So he settles for a night out with his sister. She’s back in town, her scandal old news by now, and she’s been harassing at him at the office, asking for a night out. She likes the club scene, so when Kidd invites him out, he extends the offer to her.

“Hey! Didn’t expect for you to actually show up,” Kidd says, handing him a shot. “Drink that.”

“Kidd, you remember my sister,” Zoro says, nodding at Perona as he takes the glass out of her hands. “You can’t handle alcohol, remember?”

“You’re such a bore.” She rolls her eyes. “Is he always like this?”

“All the time,” Kidd says, grinning. “Last time I saw you, you were still in middle school. I see the gothic theme is still your thing?”

“I like cute things. This is cute,” Perona snaps, pointing at her outfit. “And you’re not. Zoro, I’m going dancing.”

“Alright—but don’t accept any drinks!” he shouts after her, receiving only a half-wave.

“Look at you! Protective older brother,” Kidd grins. “So, how are things?”

“Awesome,” Zoro says. “Took your advice.”

Kidd’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly surprised. “Now  _ those _ are words I never expected to hear out of your mouth. Wait, what advice?”

“The escort? You know, the meeting you set up for me?”

Kidd laughs. “You went to that? Awesome! So how are you liking Mr. Heart? He’s amazing, isn’t he?”

“Mr. Heart? No, I met with Mr. Prince,” Zoro says. “Tall, blond,  _ gorgeous  _ legs?”

“Huh, maybe he sent a friends of his,” Kidd shrugs. “Mr. Heart  _ is _ pretty popular, he might not had time to take another client. But blond, huh…didn’t think you liked that.”

“And I thought you said she was just a one night stand,” Zoro says quickly, as he sees the blonde from last time approach their table.

“Yeah,” Kidd mutters, suddenly smiling when she comes closer. “Domino! Hi, babe, remember Zoro?”

“No, not really,” she says, glaring at Zoro. She gives him a once over, then turns to Kidd, pouting. “Baby, I thought you said we weren’t going to go out tonight. You promised me a night in.”

“C’mon, this is fun,” Kidd says, smiling. “You like dancing!”

“I also like your apartment,” she says in a suggestive tone, giving him a look Zoro knows all too well. “And the things we do there.”

Yup, she has Kidd eating out of her fingers. Zoro scoffs into his glass before taking a drink, nodding when Kidd gives him a strained look.

“See you later,” he says.

“Thanks,” Kidd answers. “I’ll see you later. And let me know how things work out with, uh, Mr. Prince.”

“Bye, Zoro,” Domino says, giving him a grin before dragging Kidd away.

Well, Zoro can’t blame his friend. He only came here cause he was turned down by his own sexy blond. Otherwise, he would be in his apartment, too, getting some.

And speaking of getting some…Zoro frowns, glaring at the man that’s too close to his sister. He’s dancing, grinding on her, following her even though she’s very clearly trying to put some distance between them.

Zoro sighs and puts down his glass. Yup, he definitely doesn’t like clubs.

Perona gets all pissy at him for dragging her out of the club, but she’s easily distracted. And just like all their other times together, they end up at their favorite place: The Baratie.

“You know, I just can’t find another restaurant that compares,” Perona says as the hostess leads them to their usual table. “Though there is this nice little coffee house in Amsterdam that I love.”

“Let me guess—they use black as their primary design color?” Zoro snorts.

Perona glares at him but doesn’t deny it. “So I’ve been thinking—you need a break from work.”

“You’ve been thinking that, huh?” Zoro shakes his head, smiling. 

“Yeah, you could come with me,” she says, taking the menu the waiter offers. “When’s the last time you’ve been East—not counting for work,” she finishes quickly.

Zoro closes his mouth, frowning. “I have a lot of work, Perona. I can’t afford any time off.”

“You’re such a drag,” she says, sighing. “You really need to have some fun.”

“I have fun—.”

Zoro stops, frozen. Perona is talking again, but he can’t really hear her. No, he’s focused on the couple across the restaurant.

A gorgeous blond and a…who the fuck is that? Zoro can recognize Mr. prince anywhere, but that guy sitting across him is a complete stranger. He’s tall and lanky, his black hair messy and probably dirty, and he looks like someone who doesn’t know the meaning of sleep.

Mr. Prince is dressed in a tailored black suit, legs crossed and a glass of wine in his hand, while the other man is wearing ripped jeans, a plain faded white t-shirt, with a beer bottle in front of him.

Even as Zoro watches, the black-haired man leans in and grabs the hand Mr. Prince has on the table, speaking quietly.

“Zoro!”

“Huh?” He rips his eyes away from Mr. Prince, meeting Perona’s concerned gaze. 

“Are you listening? What do you want to order?”

Mr. Prince is here on a date. Wait, does he get paid for dates as well? Is this one of his other clients? Is this the reason why he leaves Zoro’s side every morning? Is that the man who leaves marks all over his body?

No, he said he gets those from sparring. But he could be lying, saying only what he knows Zoro wants to hear.

But he’s out here, in public, with another man. Drinking and talking, and intimate air around them, looking like any other couple. They’re as different as they come, but Zoro can recognize the look on the black-haired man’s eyes anywhere. 

It’s lust. Heavy and unbridled lust. 

And of course he’d feel that way, Mr. Prince looks fucking amazing. Zoro has never seen him dressed in anything other than casual clothing, but the man can pull off a suit better than Zoro can.

If Zoro asked him out, would he say yes? Well, only if he gets paid, Zoro supposes. How much does a date cost? More than sex? Less? That guy doesn’t look like he can afford Mr. Prince, unless he’s some thug paying with dirty money.

He’s probably a criminal, getting his money from drugs and shit.

Zoro could pay more than that guy for a night out with Mr. Prince. He could double that guy’s price, triple it even. But…then they would be seen in public. And Zoro can’t have that. What if the press sees them? What if they get their photo taken? People will look into it, wonder who Zoro is dating, and they would discover that he’s paying for an escort’s services.

It would be the very thing he’s trying to avoid.

“Zoro, are you going to order or not?” Perona snaps at him.

Zoro looks down at his menu, suddenly feeling quite sick. “You know what, I don’t really feel like eating anymore,” he says, placing the menu down.

“Wait, what?”

“C’mon, let’s go somewhere else,” he says, helping Perona up.

“But you love it here.”

“Yeah, not today.”

He can’t picture swallowing anything down with that couple within sight.

 

Back inside the Baratie, Sanji’s losing his patience. 

Gin is the only out of Krieg’s men that he can stand, the only one he considers a friend. They’ve been close friends ever since Sanji talked him out of jumping off that roof half a decade ago, but he’s never been able to convince the other man to leave Krieg’s gang.

He’s also quite aware of the way Gin feels about him, though Sanji has been very clear about his own feelings.

Gin also happens to agree with Zeff on the fact that Sanji shouldn’t be working at the Baratie anymore, especially since he is convinced that things won’t end well for their restaurant.

“I’ve told you, I don’t need your advice,” Sanji says through gritted teeth, yanking his hand out of Gin’s grasp. “This is my home, and  _ your _ boss is trying to destroy it.”

“Nobody forced Zeff to take that debt. I warned him about the consequences,” Gin says.

“He needed the money to pay for my hospital bills—bills we wouldn’t have if I hadn’t fallen off that roof,” Sanji reminds him, being careful of not saying the word ‘push’. He doesn’t blame Gin for what happened, but ever since that day, Sanji’s life has taken a blow. 

“I know,” Gin says quietly, clearly still guilty. “I’m trying to get Don Krieg to cut you guys some slack—believe me, if you had any of the other guys coming here to shake you up, they wouldn’t be as nice as I am. Certainly wouldn’t buy you a meal.”

Sanji scoffs. “You’re paying for something that I cooked myself.”

“Sanji, take the out Zeff’s giving you,” Gin says seriously, leaning closely. “Find yourself another job. Forget about this place. Your father will lose the restaurant, but he can recover. You can build your own. Don’t get yourself dragged down by this.”

“ _ This _ is my family,” Sanji hisses. “ _ My _ father. Don’t ask me to abandon him.”

Gin stares at him, corners of his mouth pulled down, then sighs and leans back. “Very well. Then I’m collecting today’s payment. With interest.”

Sanji nods and grabs the package from his inside pocket. The manila packet is thick, a hefty part of Zoro’s payment, enough to cover today’s payment and whatever interest Krieg decided to give them this time.

Gin grabs the packet, opening to give it a cursory glance, then pockets it. “Where did you get this kind of money?” he asks, face unchanged. His voice is quiet, though. And he looks angry.

“I have a savings account,” Sanji shrugs.

“This isn’t the type of money you can come up with in a day,” Gin hisses. “What did you do?”

“None of your goddamn business,” Sanji snaps angrily. “Why the fuck do you care where I got the money—I got it, and that’s it.”

“Sanji, are you dealing with someone? Did you get yourself involved with someone shady? Tell me their names,” Gin demands.

“Fuck you!” Sanji exclaims, a bit too loud. He ignores the looks he gets and angrily stands up, throwing his chair back. “Who the fuck do you think you are, demanding shit? I can do whatever the hell I want, and I don’t need to explain jack shit to you or anyone else for that matter!”

“Sanji—Sanji!”

“Fuck off!” 

One of these days, he’s going to make Krieg pay for everything he’s done. And even if Gin is his friend, Sanji won’t hesitate in bringing them down. 

 

He’s been working longer hours with Franky, and less hours with Zeff. He loves cooking, he really does, but Zeff is still not paying him, and Sanji needs to make up the money he took from Zoro’s payments. So he gets a second job at a shady bar called Tequila Wolf. It’s not exactly up to code, and definitely not a place Sanji would frequent on his own, but the patrons drink a lot and tip a lot.

The only bad thing is that the gig is from nine p.m. to five a.m., and his work week runs from Wednesday to Sunday. He usually meets with Zoro on Friday nights, sometimes Saturdays, so that means he’s had to turn down Zoro a couple of times.

But this time, Zoro’s called him on a Monday night—strange, since Sanji knows Monday’s are the busiest days for him—and he has no prior engagements, so he agrees. Besides, he could really go for some mind-blowing sex right about now.

When he arrives, Zoro is still dressed in his usual business attire, but his tie is gone, and his jacket is laid on the back of his couch. His dinner table is covered in paperwork, his laptop, and a couple of empty beer bottles.

“Work?” Sanji asks.

“Yeah,” Zoro says, rubbing his face. He looks tired, like he hasn’t been sleeping right. “I’ve been trying to get this done as quickly as possible.”

“I could come back,” Sanji offers hesitantly, but Zoro shakes his head.

“No, I…stay.” Looking at the messy table, he mutters, “I could use the distraction.”

He  _ really  _ looks tired. He’s blinking a lot, like Sanji does when he’s trying to stay awake, and he has deep dark circles under his eyes. He has a bit of peach fuzz where he hasn’t shaven, and his hair is messy, instead of combed back. He’s exhausted.

“Alright,” Sanji says softly. “Why don’t you wait for me in bed? I need a minute first.”

Zoro nods, yawning, and follows him into the bedroom. He starts undressing, throwing his clothes haphazardly, but Sanji simply walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

This marks his fourth month doing this. He’s ignored Nami’s growing concern, made excuses for his continued visits, and he hasn’t stopped to think. Why is he still doing this?

Because he had a crush on Zoro seven years ago? Because the sex is good? Because it felt nice to be wanted by a man so coveted by others?

No, that’s why he  _ did _ it, not why he’s  _ still _ doing it.

He tries to smile at himself in the reflection of the mirror, but it’s not very convincing. Sighing, he opens the faucet and splashes his face with cold water, before drying it down. It helps him focus, bring him back to the task at hand.

When he opens the door into the bedroom, Zoro’s asleep, dressed down to his underwear, and snoring slightly.

Sanji could leave. He could leave a note, let Zoro know what happened, promised to come back another day. He could…he should.

But Zoro asked him to stay, and he’s the boss. So he really has no option but to climb in bed next to the other man and settle comfortably against him. He could use a good night’s sleep as well.

 

When he wakes up, it’s still dark. 

He yawns and stretches out, frowning when an arm tightens around his midriff. Oh, that’s right. He’s at Zoro’s place. He glances back at the still-sleeping businessman then very carefully, reaches out for the phone he left on the bedside table.

5:17 a.m. Perfect. He’s right on time.

“You’re leaving?”

Sanji freezes, phone in hand, then immediately relaxes. Zoro has never woken up in time to see him off before, but there’s nothing odd about this. So they didn’t have sex—big deal.

“I have to get to work,” Sanji answers, putting his phone down. “So do you, right?”

There’s a pause, then “Yeah.”

Zoro loosens his hold on him and Sanji rolls to a sitting position, turning around when he feels Zoro sit, too. “Are you feeling better?” he asks, despite himself.

“No, yeah,” Zoro says, then shakes his head. “Yes. I just…work’s been hectic.”

“You should take a day off,” Sanji suggest, standing up. He undressed yesterday before getting in bed, but unlike Zoro, he folded his clothes neatly and placed them on top of the wardrobe. 

“Actually, I’ll be using some of vacation days this weekend,” Zoro says, surprising him. “I’m going to Egypt to finalize the contract with Nefertari Corp, and from then I’m taking a two week vacation.”

“That’s great news,” Sanji answers honestly, smiling. Zoro needs time to relax, and maybe not with Sanji. There must be things he likes, a whole side of him Sanji doesn’t know. He’ll go out with friends and family, enjoy himself in ways that Sanji can’t satisfy. In deeper, more meaningful ways.

“I was actually thinking that you could come with me.”

Sanji looks up at Zoro, frozen in the middle of shimming into his pants. “I’m sorry?”

“To Egypt,” Zoro explains. “On the vacation. All expenses paid, of course. And if you’re available.”

Go with Zoro? He…can’t. No, he has work. He has to show up at the Baratie and help out Zeff. He’ll miss the next payment, and Zeff can’t come up with the money. Well, Sanji does have a lot of vacation days built up with Franky, and he can probably leave Zeff more money from Zoro’s payments. 

But what will he do in this vacation with Zoro? Have sex for two weeks? Just…spend the entire time in bed? 

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Zoro says suddenly, pulling him off his thoughts. “I just thought it’ll be nice not have to do this in the middle of the night all the time. And I don’t have to keep such a low profile over there, either. My father is the one with the fame, not me.”

So they could, technically, go out and eat together? In the middle of the day? Where people can see them together? They’ll think they’re a couple, just out grabbing a bite. People won’t look twice, probably. But they could, because they’d be out in the open, for anyone to see. To see them together.

“That’d be great,” Sanji finally replies. “I’d love that, actually.”

“Great,” Zoro grunts. “Jet’s leaving in four days, meet me here Friday at…4:45 a.m.?”

“I’ll be here,” Sanji promises.

 

Zoro half expects for Mr. Prince to not show up. He expected to be turned down immediately, in fact, and still isn’t sure why Mr. Prince agreed. Does he do this with other people?

Maybe Mr. Prince has no problem with anything Zoro suggests, as long as he’s getting paid. After all, the one who asked for privacy was Zoro. The reason why they only meet at Zoro’s apartment in the middle of the night is because Zoro wanted it that way.

When Mr. Prince arrives, he’s carrying a cup holder with two coffees and a white bag in one hand, and a suitcase on the other.

“Coffee, black, and a quick breakfast,” Mr. Prince says, handing him a cup. “How are we on time?”

“We’re good,” Zoro says, grabbing the white bag and looking inside. “Egg muffins?”

“I was going to bring donuts, but I know you don’t like sweet things.”

“How do you know that?” Zoro asks, taking a bite. Damn, it’s good. He can taste something spicy and savory, as well as the spinach, cheese, and of course, the eggs. 

“You take your coffee black,” Mr. Prince answers, giving him a flat look. “It’s not that hard to figure out.”

“These are great,” Zoro says, taking a second bite. “Jet’s leaving in forty, and I already have a car waiting downstairs. This is the only thing you’re bringing?”

“Yup, it’s all I need.”

“Alright, let me grab my stuff and let’s go.”

When Zoro travels out, he usually travels with Robin, but this time he asked her to leave ahead. She should be landing in Egypt already, since she left last night, but the meeting with Cobra and Vivi Nefertari isn’t until tomorrow.

“How long does the trip take?” Mr. Prince asks as they climb in the back seat of Zoro’s car. He’s using a company car, not only because he knows and trusts the drivers, but also because he never quite learned where the airport is. 

“About half a day,” Zoro shrugs. “A bit longer. We’ll be landing on Cairo about nine-ish, then I have a meeting with Nefertari Corp the next day at eight. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, so my guess is that I’ll be free by noon. From there, we have two weeks all to ourselves.”

Mr. Prince smiles widely and scoots closer to him, leaning against him when Zoro opens his arm to accommodate him. “I’ve never been to Egypt, you know,” he says, sipping from his coffee cup. “What do you have planned?”

“I…not much,” Zoro admits guiltily. This whole trip was more of a spur of a moment, and he never actually considered that Mr. Prince would say yes. What  _ are _ they going to do? “What do you want to do?”

“Me? Mmh, I’ve only been to Paris and Berlin,” Mr. Prince shrugs. “Are you letting me plan this trip?”

“Sure,” Zoro shrugs. “The idea is to get a break from work, so I don’t mind.”

Mr. Prince grins at him and places a quick kiss to his jaw. “Great; we’ll have  _ so _ much fun.”

 

The last time he was in an airplane was back when he was in college, but that time was nothing compared to Zoro’s private jet. Sanji expects it to be just like a regular airplane, but the freaking thing has a goddamn bedroom.

There’s a bedroom, in a plane. And a small kitchen, bar, and office. All in a freaking jet.  _ Damn, rich people sure live nice _ , he thinks.

He’s nervous about this whole thing, but trying not to show it. Zoro is letting him plan everything, and Sanji wants to make it as fun as possible. Zoro is a hard-worker, Sanji knows that first hand, and he can’t help but wonder when was the last time Zoro had  _ actual _ fun. When was the last time he acted like a kid? Did he even party out when he was a teenager? Did he go to college parties and get drunk?

Sanji wants a trip where they can do more than have sex—where they will  _ want _ to do more than just have sex. He wants for Zoro to enjoy his company, for them to share more than just a bed. Though they’ll have sex, of course. 

After all, Sanji has always wanted to be part of the mile-high club.

Just like Zoro said, they arrive late at night at the airport, then it’s an hour drive to their hotel. 

Sanji can see the pyramids from one of their room’s windows, and the hotel’s beautiful pool from the other. The decor is traditional, floors made of dark wood and walls painted a light stone color. Their room is big, consisting of a bedroom, a living space, a kitchen, two baths, and office, and a patio.

“Vivi Nefertari personally recommended this hotel,” Zoro tells him, finally having gotten rid of the overly-helpful staff. “Their main offices are only twenty-minutes away.”

“You said the meeting was at eight tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I should be getting some sleep by now,” Zoro says, glancing at his watch. “But I really want to break this bed in.”

Sanji smirks at him. “You’d want that, huh? How about instead, we get some sleep and maybe, if you wake up early enough, I’ll give you a little morning treat?”

“You suck,” Zoro says, but he still yawns widely and rubs blearily at his eyes. “But you’re right. Damn you.”

Sanji smiles and chooses not to retort. This will be the second time they fall asleep together without having sex first. It almost feels like they’re a real couple.

 

Zoro wakes up to the smell of something delicious. He follows his nose to the kitchen, where Mr. Prince is preparing breakfast—dressed in nothing but his briefs and a white apron. He clearly hears Zoro approach, because he turns around and smiles at him.

“Good morning,” he greets brightly. “I made breakfast.”

“What’s that?” Zoro asks, coming closer to sniff at the delicious food. “Beans?”

“Ful medames,” Mr. Prince says. “I haven’t had these in so long. They’re usually eaten alone, but I also made hard boiled eggs and had the kitchen bring up some bread.”

“It smells great, but what time is it?” he wonders, looking out through the kitchen window. It’s barely started to be light out, the sun clearly just about to rise.

“Few past six,” Mr. Prince replies. “Go get ready, then come eat. You have plenty of time.”

Zoro yawns and scratches his head. “Alright,” he agrees easily. “Thanks.”

He takes a shower, shaves, and brushes his teeth, and when he gets out of the bath, he puts on a suit that has already been laid out for him. He walks into the kitchen--his jacket and tie hanging from his arm--to delicious food ready and served.

Everything is delicious, just like every time Mr. Prince cooks for him, and when he’s done, Mr. Prince picks up his plate and glass and takes it to the sink.

“Are you calling a taxi to come pick you up?” Mr. Prince asks as he helps him slip on his jacket.

“Mm? Oh no, the Nefertari should be sending one,” Zoro answers, turning around to let Mr. Prince put on his tie. 

“You have your wallet? Phone?”

Zoro nods, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything. “Yup. Documents are in my briefcase.”

“Alright, then that’s everything,” Mr. Prince says, and smiles at him. 

“See you soon,” Zoro says and leans in to give him a small kiss.

“Good luck,” he whispers. “See you soon.”

It isn’t until Zoro’s in the car, half-way to Nefertari Corp, that he realizes how…domestic…everything was. From Mr. Prince cooking him breakfast, to him laying out Zoro’s clothes, to that last kiss. It all seemed so normal, even though Zoro has never had a morning like that. With anyone. The only thing that compares is when he was younger and his father would see him and Perona off before school. Of course, his father is nowhere near a good a cook as Mr. Prince, but the feeling was almost the same.

Familiarity and comfort.

With this, it’s so easy to imagine them having a real relationship. 

If only Zoro had met Mr. Prince in different circumstances. If only this were real.

 

Sanji is working out the last kinks out of his vacation plan when Zoro arrives, around noon like he promised. Sanji quickly puts up his laptop and notebook and climbs off bed to greet him by the door.

“Welcome back! How was work?”

Zoro takes off his jacket and puts down his briefcase before answering. “It was fine. They signed the contract, and I’ve already spoken with my father.”

“That’s great news!” Sanji exclaims, hugging Zoro tightly. “I’m really happy for y—mf.”

His words are cut off as Zoro kisses him, his tongue delving in. Sanji quickly reciprocates, trying to catch his breath the moment Zoro stops the kiss. He hisses a bit in pain when Zoro bites his neck, though the other man quickly soothes the pain with kisses. His hands trails down Sanji’s back, to untuck his shirt and touch his bare skin.

Sanji shivers; Zoro’s hands are cold, but they leave a blazing trail up his spine, across his ribs, and then again down to his stomach. He begins walking back, pushing Sanji back until the back of his thighs bump into something—the table.

“Zoro,” he gasps, grabbing hold of the table as Zoro’s thigh begins rubbing against his swelling cock. “I-in the bed—.”

“Here,” Zoro growls, suddenly picking him up and setting him on the table. He pushes him down and pulls at his jeans until they’re caught at his shoes. Sanji tries to kick them them off, but only manages to take one off before Zoro is turning him around and rubbing fingers against his opening.

“F-fuck!” Sanji quickly covers his mouth—the windows are open and they’re near the balcony; anyone passing by can hear them, even see them—but the sounds he’s making are still loud. He can’t  help it, especially when Zoro pushes his cheeks apart and gives his asshole a flat lick.

“Zoro!” he yelps, instinctively trying to pull away, but the other man has a strong grip on his hip, his other hand squeezing his ass and pulling the cheek apart to let his tongue keep licking and probing. “Oh my god—fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ .”

He whines, a sound he hates making but Zoro rips out of him every goddamn time, and moans when he feels a thick finger join Zoro’s tongue. It’s hot and hard, and Sanji can feel it pushing despite the dryness past the second knuckle. Zoro licks, trying to smooth the way, but spit isn’t lube. 

It hurts, but not a lot. Not enough to stop Sanji from feeling it when Zoro rubs against his prostate. 

“Shit, you’re still fucking tight,” Zoro growls “I can’t fit another like this.”

“L-lube,” Sanji breathes out, his breath catching as Zoro pushes roughly against  _ that _ spot again. “Get…it.”

“Fucking—.” Zoro mumbles the rest of it, pulling away to go to the bedroom, and giving Sanji enough time to take his other shoe off, kick away his jeans, and slip his shirt off. Zoro returns with the lube in one hand, condoms in the other, and Sanji grins.

“That’s bett—.”

Again, Zoro cuts him off with a kiss before bending him over. Sanji jumps at the feel of cold lube hitting his ass and bites his lip as two fingers push against his entrance, forcing their way in.

“That hurt, you idiot!” he hisses, but the heat of it dies with his moans.

“Sorry,” Zoro grunts, but doesn’t relent, shoving his fingers in and out, in and out, before adding a third.

“ _ Holy— _ fucking shit!” Sanji exclaims, gasping as Zoro spreads his fingers, the middle one rubbing against that fucking place. It feels good, so fucking good.

“Hold your ass open,” Zoro grunts.

“Huh?”

“‘C’mon, spread them,” he orders brusquely, grabbing Sanji’s hand and placing it on his own ass, showing him what he wants to do: spread his ass as Zoro finger fucks him. “I’m gonna fucking pound you,” Zoro whispers roughly, his free hand pressing into his back, holding him down. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard and deep, you’ll be feeling me for fucking days. You want that, Mr. Prince, want me to shove my fat cock in your tight ass?”

Holy fuck, yes. Zoro’s never talked to him like this before, has never been rough. He’s said things that embarrass Sanji before, lewd things he can’t picture himself saying, but he’s never been this…indecent. And what’s worse, Sanji can feel himself responding to it, to his words, imagining it. 

He moans loudly when he feels the head of Zoro’s cock rub against his entrance, his fingers trembling and rubbing the sensitive, wrinkled skin around his asshole, and whines when Zoro thrusts against him, his cock sliding against his skin.

“Feel it, Mr. Prince? How far deep it can go? How thick it is? I can’t believe your tiny ass can take it—what a fucking slut.”

Sanji startles at the insult, but the words die in his throat when he tries to defend himself. Is this because he’s pretending to be—no, he  _ is _ an escort now. He’s getting paid for sex. He’s  _ spent _ the money he’s being paid. Is this how Zoro sees him? A slut willing to spread his legs for anyone who pays him?

Does Zoro wonder if Sanji is sleeping with others? He probably thinks that Sanji leaves to have sex with someone else every morning—he did say he leaves for work. Well, what else is he supposed to think?

Sanji is nothing more than the guy he pays for sex.

“You want my cock in your ass? You wanna be fucked? You like it, right?”

“Y-yes,” Sanji whispers, then louder, “fuck me, Zoro.”

“Fuck yourself.”

Oh  _ god _ …Sanji bites his lower lip, but obeys, pushing his ass back to rub against Zoro’s cock. He hesitates, but Zoro is just standing there, so he grabs his cock—fuck, he  _ is _ big—and holds it steady while he pushes back.

It spreads him  _ so _ wide, rubbing wetly inside of him, throbbing hotly. Sanji’s legs tremble and he can feel his ass clenching around Zoro—can feel every inch of him against his walls, so  _ tight _ .

“C’mon, keep going,” Zoro says, thrusting a little into him—shit, there’s more of him. “I’m not even half in.”

“Y-you’re…s-s-so…big…” Sanji slurs out, looking back at him. He’s hand is still loosely wrapped around Zoro’s cock, the bit that’s not inside him, and he rubs his fingers against the velvet skin—there’s a good three inches to go. “Fuck…me… _ please _ …”

He screams. It’s a straight up scream, lustful and pleasured, as Zoro shoves himself inside. He doesn’t have time to be embarrassed, doesn’t have time to try and stop himself, because Zoro is pulling out almost all the way, and then ramming back inside—again, and again, his balls smacking against Sanji’s, his hands pushing his hips down and holding him still—and all he can do is scream and cry out and sob because it  _ feels so fucking good _ .

Zoro stops, but it’s only for a second, to lift Sanji’s leg and ram back in, the new angle letting him hit Sanji’s good spot straight on, and it’s heaven. Sanji doesn’t really care about anything right now, not when there’s bliss in his veins, when his body is so hot—it’s burning up—, and his mind can only chant Zoro’s name over and over.

He doesn’t even feel it when he comes, because the pleasure continues, the high stays, as Zoro keeps fucking him until he comes again, this time his orgasm tainted with pain. But this time Zoro does pull out and Sanji’s legs give out, and he falls into a heap on the floor. Zoro’s still hard, rubbing himself off, and when he comes, it’s on Sanji’s face—sticky and hot, it gets in his mouth and hair.

Zoro grabs his face softly and tilts it up for Sanji to meet his gaze. “That was great, Mr. Prince,” he says, a soft smile on his lips. “You’re amazing.”

All he can say is “thank you.”

 

Zoro’s looking through Mr Prince’s notebook, reading the plan he laid out for their vacation. He wants to spend it in China and Japan, with their first stop in Osaka. It’s another half-day trip to Japan, so Zoro should call his pilot and tell him to have the jet ready.

He glances at Mr. Prince’s sleeping form; the jet can wait, he should let him rest a bit longer.

He fell asleep as soon as he got out of the shower, didn’t even bother to get dressed, clearly tired out. Zoro looks away quickly.

He can’t believe he lost control like that. It clearly didn’t bother Mr. Prince, but Zoro’s  _ never _ done anything like that. That was…rough. And possessive. And  _ wrong. _ . It was sex filled with jealousy, meant to be painful. He wanted Mr. Prince to  _ feel _ it, to scream his name, to think only of him.

He likes him.

He likes him a  _ lot _ . It’s the type of like that can lead to something more, the type of like Zoro told himself he would never feel. 

He wants to know more about Mr. Prince. He wants to know what kind of music does he listen to, and does he like to read? What is his favorite color, and what movies does he like? He wants to know what his favorite restaurant is, and when did he visit Paris and Berlin? 

He’ll be happy just knowing what his name is.

A phone rings and it isn’t his. Zoro stands up to grab it from the stand on the other side of the bed, looking at the caller ID.

_ Nami _ .

Is she a friend? A client? A  _ lover _ ? Zoro lets the call go to voicemail, but doesn’t put the phone down. Sure enough, a text comes through.

_ Where are you? I stopped by your apartment this morning and… _

The rest of it is cut off, the notification bar not showing the entire thing. It shows enough, though. She’s someone important, then, to know where Mr. Prince lives.

A friend? Lover?

She more than likely knows his name. Does she know what he does for a living?

Zoro swipes, but a lock screen pops up. It’s for the better, he thinks. He shouldn’t be doing this anyway. He’s not Mr. Prince’s friend, he’s not his boyfriend, he’s just his client. He can’t expect anything more. He can’t ask for anything more.

All he can do is continue the contract. He needs to spend time with him, and maybe with more time, he can find out more. Mr. Prince has talked about his part before, maybe he’ll start to trust Zoro more and even tell him his name one day.

All he has to do is keep paying him.

Zoro puts the phone down and picks up his own. He’ll call his pilot and take Mr. Prince to Japan. It’s about the only thing he can do now.

 

They arrive at Osaka and go sightseeing. Mr. Prince purchases a camera and has Zoro take pictures of them everywhere. He’s like a small child, bouncing with boundless energy—it brings back memories of when Zoro first came to Japan, when he first learned of his heritage.  They visit Osaka Castle and have a picnic in the park under the sakura trees. They’re in the middle of spring, so they’re in bloom, and dozens of people are visiting the parks to watch the flowers—Hanami, Zoro explains to Mr. Prince.

He’s curious about everything, and Zoro remembers how much he loves his country through him.

Their last stop is the aquarium in the evening.

“Oh my god—marimo!” Mr. Prince exclaims, pointing at Zoro.

Zoro feels himself blush, glaring at the display of mossballs. “Shut up, curly brow.”

“Aw, did the marimo get upset?” Mr. Prince grins. “But you’re so cute and fluffy.”

“Let’s go see the sharks—I wanna see the sharks.”

Mr. Prince laughs, “c’mon, let’s take a picture first.”

They do take a picture, Zoro glaring at the camera and Mr. Prince smiling widely—the asshole. He grabs Zoro’s hand when they’re done, and they stay like for the rest of tour. 

The next day they travel to Kyoto, Zoro’s favorite prefecture, and visit the shrines and temples. Zoro isn’t religious at all, but he enjoys studying and learning about Buddhism—Koshiro was a devout buddhist, and he passed some of his teaching to Zoro before they separated.

Mr. Prince lets Zoro choose their afternoon trip, and Zoro chooses the Sagano Bamboo Forest. 

“Oh…wow,” Mr. Prince breathes, staring up into the sky covered by bamboo. 

“Can you hear that?” Zoro asks quietly.

As the wind passes through the tightly packed plants, the wood bends and creaks, the leaves rustle, and the trunks knock together, creating a peaceful sound like almost nothing else. 

“This is beautiful, Zoro.”

“Yeah…”

Perona and Mihawk both love coming here as much as Zoro does. Perona loves the forest when it’s empty—loves the  _ otherness _ of it. And Mihawk enjoys the sounds, likes to close his eyes and just listen.

“I like looking up and seeing how tall the trunks are,” Zoro admits quietly. “When it storms, they bend with the wind. And when it passes, they stand straight again, unharmed. It bends, but it won’t break. It’s deeply rooted, but it’s flexible. This is the strength I wish to achieve.”

Mr. Prince grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers.  “If anyone can, my bet’s on you.”

Zoro stares at him, surprised. “Thanks,” he says after a moment.

Mr. Prince nods, then grins. “But if we’re talking flexibility, I’m still better than you.”

Zoro rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but huff out a laugh. “Yeah, for now.”

“Oh, is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

“Uh huh. Let me see you try to touch your ankles—backwards.”

“You can do that!?”

After the bamboo forest, they stop at a small restaurant with amazing food, and Zoro gets to enjoy Mr. Prince geek out about Japanese cuisine, lecturing Zoro about different aspects of it as if Zoro wasn’t Japanese himself. 

They travel throughout Japan that first week, visiting shrines, museums, and restaurants. Zoro gets to retouch his culture and at the same time, he starts learning a little more about Mr. Prince.

Like for example, Mr. Prince reveals he was born in Paris, but his entire family hails from Germany. He also slips and tells Zoro his age and as it turns out, he’s older than Zoro by just nine months. When they visit Sunayama Beach, Mr. Prince reminisces about the time he and his father spent sailing the Pacific, working on a cruise.

Zoro also finds out that Mr. Prince was a heavy smoker, but slowed down after it started interfering with his sense of taste, though he still enjoys the occasional cigarette. His strange curling eyebrow is hereditary, a trait passed down from his father, and he went to the same university as Zoro, but was in a different department.

The more he knows, the hungrier Zoro gets for more. There are some things he feels confident asking about, superficial things like what is his favorite color (yellow) or his favorite animal (sharks), but there’s a question that always gets caught in his throat.

_ What is your name? _

“You okay?” Mr. Prince whispers, brushing his nose against Zoro. He’s a bit sweaty, his hair stuck to his forehead, and there’s a heavy blush across the bridge of his nose. Zoro’s the same, body loose and satiated after yet another mind-blowing orgasm. His arm is falling asleep under Mr. Prince’s weight, but he’d rather cut it off than move, and Mr. Prince’s leg rest on his hip.

Cuddling. Who would’ve thought he’d enjoy it so much?

“Yeah,” he answers quietly. He doesn’t know why they’re whispering, since they’re alone. The sun is barely breaking above the horizon, sending broken rays of sunlight through the window and splayed across the bed. One of them lights up Mr. Prince’s bicep, highlighting his fine, blond hairs and the small sun marks around his shoulder.

“I was thinking,” he begins, his eyes still on Mr. Prince’s shoulder, “that I could probably extend my vacation another week. We could go to Paris.”

His father will kill him for this, but there’s only five days left on their vacation, and Zoro feels like it’s not enough time. The moment they go back home is the moment he has to go back to sharing Mr. Prince to whoever is paying him next.

The mere thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth and a nasty ache in his chest.

“I…can’t,” Mr. Prince answers, and he sounds sincerely disappointed. “I have…an important appointment.”

So another client. An important one? More important than Zoro? So someone that’s paying him more than him? He opens his mouth, ready to match or even double whatever this _ important _ client is offering, but the words die in his throat. He can’t monopolize Mr. Prince like this. This is his  _ job _ and Zoro has to respect that. 

Mr. Prince isn’t his, not even if Zoro offered him all of the money in the world.

“Another time, then,” he says instead and Mr. Prince smiles.

“Definitely.”

 

Sanji doesn’t want to go home. These past two weeks have been perfect, like a dream he never wants to wake up from. He was so tempted to accept Zoro’s invitation, but unfortunately, he has responsibilities at home.

He thought things would be awkward after that, but Zoro didn’t seem bothered. They travelled from Japan to China, where they spent more time exploring the city than they did having sex. It was almost like a real vacation, almost like a real relationship.

“The plane will be landing in a few minutes,” Zoro says as he takes his seat next to Sanji. “I have a car ready to pick us up and take us home. Can you spend the night with me?”

“You’re still not tired of me?” Sanji asks, smirking.

“I don’t think that can happen,” Zoro answers and something flutters in Sanji’s stomach. He only smiles, though, and leans in for a small kiss.

They have a smooth landing, and just like Zoro said, a car is waiting for them at the airport. But Sanji doesn’t recognize the path it takes, and instead of Zoro’s apartment, they end up arriving at a house by the coast.

“Where are we?”

“Home,” Zoro answers, closing the car door behind him. “I only rent the apartment because it’s close to work, but this is home to me. It’s the house I grew up in.”

Sanji glances at Zoro, then back at the modest house. It’s surprisingly small, similar to the house Sanji grew up in, though better taken care of. It has a large porch and a healthy garden, and a cherry red painted door. When Zoro opens the door, Sanji smells salt and freshness.

Pictures frames line the front hall, Zoro and his sister when they were children. Zoro with his father. Zoro with friends. Zoro graduating. Zoro spending Christmas with his family, opening presents, celebrating birthdays and New Year’s.

In the living room, there’s a trophy wall, with all of the trophies Zoro won during his competing years. There are first place ribbons and championship plaques. Newspaper clippings and framed pictures.

“My father tends to go overboard,” Zoro says suddenly, and Sanji turns to see him blushing, clearly embarrassed. 

“Is it okay for me to be here?” Sanji asks, trying not to sound as nervous as he is. 

“It’s fine,” Zoro assures him. “My father only comes here during holidays and Perona is somewhere in Europe.”

Sanji nods and turns back to the trophy wall. He’s still nervous, despite Zoro’s words. This is Zoro’s  _ home _ , and he brought Sanji here. Does this mean he trusts Sanji more?

His attention is caught by a picture of Zoro after a match. He clearly won first place, judging by the large trophy in his hands. His father, Mihawk, has him hoisted up on his shoulder, and Zoro is smiling widely. Perona is by Mihawk’s side, tightly gripping her father’s leg while she looks up at Zoro with clear admiration in her eyes.

“That was a great day,” Zoro says, and Sanji jumps when he feels the other man hug him from behind. “The first championship I won. Mihawk wouldn’t stop talking about it for days.”

Sanji smiles softly. “He’s obviously proud of you.” He knows how important Mihawk’s opinion is to Zoro. The man doesn’t care much for what others think of him, but his father is clearly on a whole other level. The only people who matter to Zoro are Mihawk and Perona.

Zoro nods and yawns, nuzzling against Sanji’s neck. “Yeah. Mmh, let’s go to bed. I’m tired.”

“You sure you want me to stay then?” Sanji asks. 

“Yes,” Zoro answers. “I always sleep better with you in bed.”

Sanji can’t help but smile. He might not mean as much to Zoro as his family does, but Sanji is clearly special to him. There can’t be a lot of people who know this side of Zoro, right? The girls and guys he slept with before, they have never been to this home. They don’t share Zoro’s bed like Sanji does, they don’t get to enjoy this side of the usually stoic man.

Zoro  _ trusts _ him.

And maybe, even likes him a little.

 

He wakes up to an empty bed. It takes him a moment to gather his surrounding, tense, but then relaxes as he sees Zoro enter the bedroom, halfway done through getting dressed.

“Did I wake you?” he asks, apologetic, as he buttons up his shirt. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sanji murmurs, enjoying the view. Zoro’s pants are undone, his shirt haphazardly tucked in, and his button-up shirt is clearly not the right size, since it stretches precariously tight across Zoro’s chest. Not that Sanji is complaining of course. 

“Don’t tell me you’re running late,” Sanji says, sitting up a little. “I woke up with a real… _ craving _ .”

Zoro glances at him and smirks. “Yeah? Sorry, but I really am running late. My father is on his way to the office, and if he doesn’t see me there, I’ll be in hell. Another night?”

Sanji pouts, “I guess.”

“You’re amazing,” Zoro says and strides across the room to kiss him.

Sanji kisses him back, unable to keep the smile off his face even as Zoro licks at his lips. Zoro pulls back first.

“Speaking of which, I have something for you,” Zoro says, moving to grab the briefcase Sanji didn’t notice sitting on the night stand. “Open it.”

Sanji grabs the briefcase hesitantly, but Zoro only nods enthusiastically at him when he glances at him curiously. It’s a bit heavy, and when Sanji opens it, his heart almost leaps out of his chest at the sight of twelve thick stacks of twenty-dollar bills neatly lined in two rows. 

“What is this?” he whispers.

“A bonus,” Zoro says, sounding almost proud. “I had an amazing time with you in Asia, you deserve it. You’ve gone above and beyond. It felt like a real relationship—without annoying and unnecessary feelings and shit.”

“A real relationship?” He doesn’t mean to ask that, it just comes out.

“I don’t mean it like that,” Zoro is quick to say, “I mean sure, if it had been anyone else, I would have asked them out after a time like  _ that _ . But you’re…well,  _ you _ .”

“Oh.” That’s right. Sanji is, well, Sanji. An escort. The type of guy Zoro can sleep with, but not introduce to his father. Zoro trusts him, because Sanji is getting paid for that. That’s the whole gimmick, right? Sanji’s supposed to be the guy whose loyalty can be bought.

“Well, thanks,” he says, clearing his throat. “You didn’t have to.”

Zoro grins at him. “I know. I really do have to head in, but I’ll see you tonight?”

“Sure thing,” Sanji says, smiling. “Nine?”

“Perfect.”

Zoro kisses him before he leaves. The bed is warm, but Sanji is still cold.

He moves the briefcase off the bed, neatly placing it on the nightstand again before getting his phone from next to it.

She answers quickly, “ _ Sanji?” _

“Nami?” he doesn’t know why he’s whispering. He feels small, and the only thing he knows right now is that he doesn’t belong here. Not in this house. “I really fucked up.”

 

Mr. Prince doesn’t show up that night. The money is still there, and when Zoro calls him, he gets sent to voicemail. Did something come up? But why wouldn’t he take the money?

Fuck, did he realize? He knew he fucked up admitting his feelings! Fuck, he should’ve kept his mouth shut and never revealed how much those two weeks mean to him. He can’t freak out, though. Maybe something else happened. Maybe Mr. Prince had an emergency with another client, and—

No, that’s worse. 

He just needs to calm down and wait until Mr. Prince contacts him. But a week passes, and there is no sign of the blond. 

He shouldn’t have said anything.

Zoro tips back his drink and stares at the sofa across the room. He had sex twice with him in that chair. They had sex in the kitchen, against the wall, on the floor next to the dining table—he doubts there’s an inch of space in this apartment that hasn’t been touched by Mr. Prince. Even his home has been touched by the man, because Zoro was fucking stupid enough to take him there.

He should have known that it would be too much. Mr. Prince isn’t an idiot, he probably realized how much it meant to Zoro, what a huge step it was for Zoro to allow him inside his childhood home.

His phone rings and Zoro quickly answers it, idiotically hopeful.

“Hello?”

“ _ Zoro _ ?  _ I’m so sorry _ .”

Zoro frowns. “Kidd?” His friend sounds upset, voice subdued. “What’s wrong?”

“ _ I was an idiot man. I trusted—I just, I’m  _ so _ sorry _ .”

“What are you talking about? Are you drunk?” Kidd has a high tolerance, almost as high as Zoro’s, so the fact that he’s drunk spells trouble. And the man never apologizes, so this is some serious shit. 

“ _ I didn’t mean to,”  _ Kidd continues _ , “I was thinking. I trusted her.” _

_ “ _ Kidd—.”

He gets interrupted by the sound of an incoming message. Zoro frowns, pulling the phone away to read the message that just arrived. It’s from Robin.

_ Turn on Channel 5. Now. _

Robin never gives out orders, and she never texts. Kidd is still apologizing over the phone, so Zoro ignores him in favor of finding the remote and turning his TV on and to Channel 5. 

“ _ She found the business card. I didn’t know she worked for them!!” _

Kidd’s voice is background noise, Zoro’s entire focus on the images on the TV.

It’s him and Mr. Prince in Japan. The two of them at a restaurant, holding hands walking down the street, walking into their hotel. There’s one of them in the bamboo forest, another one in a shop, one of them kissing.

Roronoa Zoro, son of Dracule Mihawk, buying the services of an escort. 

“How did they know?” Zoro growls into the phone, cutting off Kidd’s apologies. “What did you do!?”

“ _ Domino, she…she works for a magazine. I was drunk and it just spilled. I’m sorry, Zoro.” _

Zoro hangs up the phone before he can say something he will regret. Immediately, it rings again, his father’s name on the Caller ID.

Zoro closes his eyes and groans. He is  _ so _ dead.

 

Nami is the one who tells him. 

“How could they have found out?” Sanji gasps, looking at the screen with the images of his and Zoro’s vacation.

“Well, it’s not like you guys were hiding out there,” Nami mutters. “You’re walking in the middle of Tokyo holding hands.”

“Zoro said it was okay!” Sanji defends himself. “He said his father was—shit, his father.”

Nami glances at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Zoro said he hired me because he didn’t want to cause any trouble for his father,” Sanji explains. “And this is clearly trouble. Shit, what if he thinks  _ I  _ was the one who told the press? I need to go see him.”

“Wait, Sanji, think about this,” Nami says quickly, holding her hand up to stop him. “There’s nothing you can do. If you go looking for him, he’s going to want to know why you stopped calling him.”

That’s true. Sanji bites his lip and stares at the TV. Both he and Nami decided that the best way for Sanji to forget about Zoro was to break off all contact. He can’t keep up his charade anymore, can’t keep pretending that he doesn’t feel  _ something _ for Zoro. He doesn’t have a name for the feelings in his chest, but they are strong and they _ hurt _ .

“He’s going to think I told them,” Sanji murmurs, glancing at Nami. “He’s going to think I betrayed him.”

Zoro trusts him. To the very end, Zoro trusted him. That’s why he invited Sanji to the vacation, why he invited Sanji home. The one who messed things up was Sanji, not Zoro. 

“I disappear suddenly, and a couple of weeks later, this pops up on the news? What would you think?” 

Nami frowns, but she knows Sanji’s right. “And so what?”

Sanji bites his lip. “I don’t want him thinking any less of me, Nami. I have to tell him.”

Nami sighs, but she grabs her keys from the coffee table. “Fine, but if this thing backfires, I  _ will _ say ‘I told you so’.”

“Thank you!” Sanji exclaims, hurriedly grabbing his coat and following Nami out.

Sanji doesn’t start freaking out until Nami makes a right turn and the MIAD building comes into stark display. The building towers above the other skyscrapers, the gloss large letters visible from around the city. Sanji has never set foot inside that building, only ever seeing Zoro at his apartment, and then he realizes something: Zoro doesn’t  _ know _ him.

And Sanji will have to tell him everything. Not only why he stopped calling, but why he pretended to be an escort from the beginning. He will have to explain his reasons for accompanying Zoro on that trip, for willingly sleeping with the man even though he didn’t want or need the money. 

He’s going to be  _ bare _ .

“It’s not too late to back out,” Nami says, clearly seeing his inner turmoil. “You don’t owe him an explanation.”

“I do,” Sanji disagrees in a whisper.

Nami doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t step out with Sanji once she finds a parking spot.

“I will be quick,” he promises and she just nods.

Sanji takes a deep breath and turns around. The entrance to the building is four large glass doors, with guards standing at attention on either side. Everyone coming in and out are dressed in sharp business attire, just like Zoro used to wear, and Sanji suddenly feels  _ very _ much underdressed in his jeans and t-shirt.

He runs a quick hand through his hair, takes a second deep breath, and walks in.

He keeps his gaze forward, determined to march right into Zoro’s office, but of course he doesn’t even know where that is, so he stops by the front desk and catches the receptionist’s attention.

“H-hello. I…need to speak with Mr. Roronoa.”

The curly-haired blond looks at him with recognition, but her expression doesn’t change. “Of course you do,” she says, and even though her voice is polite, Sanji flinches. “Thirteenth floor, last door to the right. Don’t forget to sign in.”

Sanji scrawls his name on the clipboard and hurries towards the elevators. He ignores all of the people that stare at him and quickly presses the 13 button down. He doesn’t even know how he’s going to begin explaining himself. He might not even get the chance; Zoro might throw him out before he even opens his mouth. And even if Zoro believes that he didn’t tell the press anything, then what?

Sanji still lied to him about being an escort. Sanji still…fell for him. And he left. Sanji bites his lip and leans his head forward, away from the people behind him.

The elevator stops twice before stopping at the thirteenth floor. No one exits with Sanji and for that, he’s thankful. It seems everyone here knows that Sanji slept with Zoro—and they all think him a gold-digging prostitute. Awesome.

The last door is wide, painted a dark, forest green. The secretary’s desk is empty, but there’s a purse on top of it, so she might be inside the office. With Zoro. 

Sanji nervously readjusts his shirt and raises his hand to knock—.

“You!”

Sanji jumps, quickly hiding his hand behind his back, and turns to look at Perona.

Shit, she’s pissed.

“How fucking dare you!?” she shouts, advancing on him. “How can you show up here!? Don’t you have any fucking decency?”

“I just…I need to speak with Zo—.”

“You’re not going anywhere near my brother, you fucking… _ whore _ !”

Sanji’s back hits the wall and the color drains from his face.

“I don’t know how the fuck you managed to trick my brother, but you’re not tricking me,” Perona hisses, her finger digging into Sanji’s chest. “You’re not taking another fucking cent from us, you hear me?”

“I don’t want money,” Sanji says hurriedly, still trying to explain himself. “I just need to  _ talk _ —.”

“Why? So you can fuck him and convince him to take you back? Is that your plan, huh? You’re not satisfied with his money, you want more?”

Sanji bites his lip. Yeah, he wants more. He wants to tell Zoro everything, he wants Zoro to forgive him and tell him that he feels the same. He wants to pretend that everything will turn out fine, and that miraculously, he will get to be with Zoro again.

“You’re  _ nothing _ to him,” Perona hisses. “You think you’ve hurt him? My brother is stronger than this. He is better than you. He will fix this, and you will be nothing but a mistake.”

Sanji opens his mouth, but he can’t deny what she’s saying. It’s true. He thinks too highly of himself if he thinks Zoro cares that he lied. Zoro can fix his image just like Perona did, and his father will forgive him. This will blow off soon, and Sanji will still be nothing more than a two-cent chef.

“Leave, before my father sees you and  _ makes _ you leave.”

She steps back, but only to allow him enough room to walk away. He tries to move as fast as possible without looking like he’s running away, but who’s he kidding? He  _ is _ running away. When the elevator doors in front of him, he can still see Perona glaring him down from down the hall.

Nami doesn’t tell him anything later on, not even an  _ ‘ _ I told you so’.

 

His call still goes straight to voicemail. Zoro hoped that Mr. Prince would contact him after the whole press mess, but there’s still radio silence on his end. His only calls have been from Kidd—still profusely apologizing—, his lawyer, Perona, and his father. 

Surprisingly, his father wasn’t as upset as Zoro imagined. Yeah, he was angry and he still admonished Zoro for not being careful, but after the initial chiding, he went straight to fixing the problem.

First was making sure that Zoro’s slip up wouldn’t affect their deal with the Nefertari, but Cobra took it with humor. It seems his daughter had had a similar situation with her now fiancé. Second was making sure the press didn’t blow up things out of proportion, which was fixed with a couple of calls and thinly concealed threats. 

It’s been two weeks since then, and things are now back to normal. Or as normal as they can be.

“We need a night out,” Perona suddenly says, getting Zoro’s attention. Since her arrival two weeks ago, Perona has taken it upon herself to keep Zoro’s distracted, even though he doesn’t need her help. She can’t help him where it matters. “We need to have fun.”

“Fun?” It doesn’t seem appropriate to go out and party less than a month after the whole escort fiasco. “I really don’t have the time.”

“You keep saying that,” Perona complains, “but Dad and Robin are already taking care of everything. Can we really not even go out and  _ eat _ ?”

“Perona—.”

“Just lunch!” she interrupts quickly. “We can go to the Baratie. Tell me you wouldn’t enjoy their fried rice right about now.”

He still doesn’t want to go out, but he knows his sister. If he keeps turning her down, she will take her personally and it will end up with Zoro comforting  _ her _ . It’s happened a million times and the best way to deal with it is simply by letting Perona do what she wants. Besides, his lunch hour  _ is _ coming up and fried rice is his favorite meal, so he might as well.

“Alright— _ but! _ only an hour,” Zoro is quick to say, glaring at her. “Then I’m coming right back here and finishing my work.”

“Yes, yes, whatever you say!” Perona exclaims happily. “C’mon, I already made us a reservation.”

“You did!?”

Perona ignores the rest of his protests and drags him outside, shoo-ing their driver away and opting to drive herself. Zoro doesn’t mind, since he can admit to not knowing exactly how to get to the restaurant—since the stupid thing keeps  _ moving,  _ as he told his sister a thousand times.

He checks his phone a couple of times during the ride, but he only receives emails from work, a message from Robin, and a couple of notifications from the social apps Perona forced him to download.

He’s tempted to open the message thread he had with Mr. Prince, but forces himself not to do it. 

Zoro tried finding Mr. Prince through the Fool’s Paradise agency, but they didn’t want to speak with him. They hid behind lawyers and refused to share any information on their current or past employees, and there was nothing Zoro could do to make them change their minds. Even Kidd’s friend, the famed Mr. Heart, didn’t want to tell him anything.

“We’re here,” Perona says and Zoro quickly turns off his phone. “C’mon.”

It’s starting to get cold outside, but not enough for Zoro to actually wear a jacket. Perona is bundled up, though, and she quickly snuggles against Zoro as they begin walking, forcing him to wrap an arm around her shoulders to keep from stumbling.

“It’s not that cold,” he grumbles.

“You only say that because you’re a walking furnace,” Perona snaps, wrapping her arm around his waist. 

The hostess gives them a quirky smile when they walk inside still half-hugging, instantly recognizing them, and takes them to their usual table.

“I’ll bring out a drink to warm you up,” she tells Perona, offering them both menus.

“Thank you!”

“You know it’s bad when the staff recognizes you,” Zoro snorts. “We should explore more restaurants.”

“Why? This one’s the best,” Perona says, shrugging her coat off. “And the waiting staff changes every few months, it won’t be long before there’s a different hostess.”

“I wonder if working here sucks,” Zoro says, glancing around the classy joint. “Seems like a pretty sweet job.”

“You never know,” Perona shrugs, then stops. “Shit! I think I forgot my wallet in the car.”

“Go get it then,” Zoro says, looking through the menu.

“Go get it for me,” Perona pleads, giving him puppy eyes when he glares at her. “It’s cold outside and I already took my jacket off. Please?”

“Just leave it in the car. I’ll pay.”

“I left it on the seat. What if someone breaks the window trying to steal it?”

“Fine,” Zoro groans, standing up. “The things I do for you, brat.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll order for you!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The Baratie has two main parking lots and most of the times, both of them are packed. Zoro stops outside the restaurant, trying to remember where exactly Perona parked. Did they enter through the side, or did they walk around? Perona drives a black Camry, a car that literally half the city drives, so it’s not like he can just spot it across the street.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, and starts walking towards the parking lot around the corner. He’s reaching the end of the street, when a peripheral movement catches his attention and makes him stop.

And there he is.

Mr. Prince.

Zoro opens his mouth, ready to call out, get his attention, anything, when the other person there speaks and breaks the spell.

“—because you’re not fucking thinking straight!”

It’s that guy, the black-haired jackass Zoro saw the other day. He’s dressed in dirty jeans and a plain white t-shirt, but this time he matches with Mr. Prince, who has his hair tied back into a messy ponytail and is wearing an apron over regular clothes.

“I don’t need to hear this from you, alright?” Mr. Prince snaps, visibly upset. He has flour all over his apron and on his chin, and Zoro really wants to wipe it away.

What is he doing here? Why is he dressed like that? Wait, does he  _ work _ in the restaurant? No, that’s impossible. But…that exit door does look like it leads into the Baratie’s kitchen.

“I  _ asked _ for your help, remember? And you couldn’t do anything,” Mr. Prince says, glaring at the other man. 

“That doesn’t mean you had to fucking  _ sell yourself _ !” the man yells and Zoro feels something cold stab his heart.

_ What? _

“Gin, that’s not what—.”

“Don’t lie to me!” the man—no, _ Gin _ , snaps. “You and I both know you’d sell your soul to the goddamn devil if it meant saving your father’s restaurant. This is why your father was pushing you away, you idiot. Everyone in that kitchen knows you’re the best fucking chef in this entire city—hell, the entire  _ country— _ but this place is a sinking ship, and your father and I don’t want you to sink with it!”

“Yeah, well you and that old geezer can shove it!” Mr. Prince growls. “I don’t have to listen to your sermons when you’re working for the man who wants to take away my home!”

“If I’d known what you were doing—.”

“It was none of your fucking business!” Mr. Prince exclaims, pissed. “Why do you care how many guys I fucked with?”

“Because I fucking love you, Sanji!”

Zoro’s face slackens with surprise and he feels his knees tremble before he rights himself. Mr. Prince is pale, staring at Gin with wide eyes, clearly as shocked as Zoro.

His name is Sanji.

Zoro mouths the name, savoring it. Sanji. He opens his mouth, ready to speak, but someone grabs his shirt and yanks him back.

“What are you doing?” Perona hisses at him.

Zoro still has his mouth open, but nothing comes out. He blinks at his sister, confused, then glances back at the two men. Gin is speaking again, but he’s not shouting anymore. Instead he’s speaking quietly, close—too close—to…Sanji…and Zoro can’t hear them anymore.

“Let’s go,” Perona says, snapping her eyes away from the couple and pulls on Zoro’s shirt. “ _ C’mon!” _

Zoro follows her numbly, his eyes on the blond. He’s staring at the ground, cheeks blazing red, while Gin is still fervently speaking to him. Confessing to him. 

His name is Sanji.

Zoro finally knows, but he’ll never get to utter it.

 

The first thing he does upon arriving home is look him up on the internet.

He types ‘The Baratie’ on the search bar, and is surprised when a bunch of results pop up. The very first one is an online review on some foodie blog singing praises about the Baratie.

The blogger writes about the amazing menu, the amazing services, but Zoro is more interested in the picture at the bottom of the article.

_ ‘Owner Zeff Black and current Sous Chef Sanji Black, Baratie’s Grand Opening, 2005’ _

Sanji is about ten years old in that picture, standing proudly next to an older man with blond hair under the Baratie’s fish sign. He’s dressed in chef’s white, smiling widely.

Zoro clicks back and clicks on the second link.

Another amazing review. Another link, another review. And so on…a few mention how amazing the food is, especially when they request the Sous Chef prepare it, but none of them talk about Sanji in detail.

He replaces ‘The Baratie’ with ‘Sanji Black’.

The first result is an article from when Sanji graduated. Zoro clicks on it, baited by the picture of Sanji in the familiar red graduation gown, and enters the culinary website.

It’s a small article about how Sanji graduated top of his class, with more than a dozen job offers to the best restaurants in the entire country. In the end, Sanji chose to stay at his father’s restaurant, the writer noted with disappointment.

There’s more articles, all of them praising Sanji’s great culinary talent. He’s won multiple competitions and awards, and more than a dozen writers and chefs sing praises about him.

_ A genius in the kitchen. _

_ The best chef this side of the hemisphere. _

_ A natural talent. _

_ Such a shame, he decided to stay at the Baratie _ .

Most of the articles are years old, the most current one written about five years ago. It’s a link to a newspaper’s website, detailing the horrific accident where Sanji fell from a five story building. They don’t mention the fact that he’s a chef, only talking about his bravery trying to save a jumper.

It seems from there, his career as a chef suffered a hit, mostly because he stubbornly decided to stick with his father.

He slept with Zoro, because he wanted to help his father.

How is he supposed to be mad at  _ that _ ?

He thinks back to the night at the club, when he met Sanji. There was no way he knew what Zoro wanted then. He must have made his decision quickly, for Zoro not to have noticed it.

That guy—Zoro refuses to say his name now—said something about Sanji losing his home. Do they perhaps owe money to someone? That guy  _ did _ look like a thug, and he said his boss was the one trying to take the Baratie, so maybe some kind of shady debt.

Zoro could pay it off. What would Sanji do, if Zoro shows up and tells him he doesn’t have to worry about losing the restaurant anymore?

He’d probably have sex with him again. It’d be amazing.

But would Zoro still wake up to an empty bed?

He groans and shuts off the computer.

Why the fuck did he ever listen to Kidd?

He decides the best way to stop thinking is to get drunk. And the only way he can drink without risking alcohol poisoning is by drinking almost a full bottle of Everclear.

He wakes up the next morning well into the afternoon with the biggest headache of his life and no recollection of what happened the night before. Little clues around his room point to him having stayed in his room the whole night, so at least he didn’t do anything stupid.

Except drink himself blackout drunk knowing he had to go to work the next day.

“Only douches wear sunglasses inside,” Perona says.

“Shh,” Zoro hisses, pressing a finger to his temple as he walks around his sister to enter his office. He slumps in his comfy chair and presses the intercom. “Robin, could you get me some aspirin?”

“Right away, Mr. Roronoa.”

“You got drunk.” It isn’t a question, and it isn’t said quietly. Zoro glares at his sister, but she can’t see it from behind the dark shades.

“Just a little bit,” he mumbles. “So I’d appreciate it if you’d shut up.”

Robin enters with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. “Please take a maximum of two.”

“Thanks. Perona, I have work to do.”

All he wants to do is fall asleep or maybe drink some more. Neither of which he can do with his sister still glaring at him.

“Here.”

He blinks at the clipboard in her hands. He glances at her, but Perona is looking away, head held high. She looks exactly like when Mihawk forced her to give back the doll she’d stolen from some girl in preschool: proud and apologetic all rolled in one.

Robin grabs the clipboard from her and hands it to Zoro. He only needs to glance at it to know why Perona is showing him this. 

“He came about two week ago,” Perona says, speaking to the wall she finds so interesting. “Said he wanted to talk to you. I told him to go fuck himself.”

“You did what!?”

Sanji came here. He came to look for Zoro. To talk about what?

“I thought he was a gold-digging prostitute!” Perona exclaims, finally looking at him. “I was angry at him!”

“You don’t know him!” Zoro shouts, instantly groaning when his brain throbs angrily. 

“But I know you!” Perona says and Zoro winces at the volume. “You like him! I could see it from the start, and I thought he was taking advantage of you. I knew if he talked to you then, you would have forgiven him.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Zoro hisses.

“I know that  _ now _ .” Perona sighs and rubs her head—a habit she shares with Zoro and Mihawk. “That’s why…I’m telling you this.”

“It might not be my place, but I hardly believe Miss Perona is to blame for all of this,” Robin suddenly pipes in. “Perhaps it’s best to simply talk with Mr. Black?”

“Wait, how do you know his name?” Zoro asks, glancing at her in surprise.

Robin shrugs and gives him one of her annoyingly cryptic smiles. “He signed his name on the contract.”

Zoro’s mouth falls open. “And you didn’t tell me!?”

“I assumed you’d noticed.”

Zoro stares at her, incredulous, until Perona snaps her fingers at him. “What are you waiting for? Go talk to him!”

Zoro hesitates. Should he? Sanji came to talk to him, but that doesn’t necessarily mean what Zoro wants it to mean. After all, Sanji stopped talking to him weeks before Domino told the press about them. The only reason Sanji ever slept with him was for money—he might have not been doing it with other men, but that still doesn’t mean he was ever with Zoro because he  _ wanted _ to.

“You’re thinking too much,” Perona says, distracting him. “He wanted to talk to you, and I stopped him. At the very least, you should hear what he had to say.”

Zoro nods. He’s thankful for her advice, the perfect excuse to ignore all rationale and simply go look for Sanji because he  _ wants to _ . Even if he’s turned away, even if he gets nothing out of it—he just really fucking wants to see him again.

And maybe even finally speak his name.

 

Loud knocking wakes him up. Sanji sits up groggily and glances at his window, where the sun is shining brightly through. It’s the middle of the afternoon, but Sanji has just gotten off a late shift with Franky,  and he’s no longer welcomed at the Baratie, so he thought he could catch up on some sleep.

Whoever’s knocking does so again and Sanji groans. The only people who would bother him are Nami and Gin, and he really hopes it’s not Gin. 

Even though they ended on good terms, he really doesn’t want to see him after just turning him down. He’s known Gin’s feelings for years, but it’s a whole other thing actually hearing him say the words. 

The knocking gets louder and Sanji huffs before getting off his bed.

“I’m coming!” he yells, grabbing his shirt from the ground in case it’s Nami. He yawns, flinching when his bare feet touch the cold floor, and runs a hand through his hair to tame it before he opens the door.

“Hey.”

Sanji blinks up at Zoro, surprised.

It’s really him, dressed in that familiar business suit, hair neatly swept back. He looks just like Sanji remembers him, and of course he does, it’s only been weeks since he last saw him—except for the busted lip and bruise forming on his right temple.

“What happened to you?”Sanji gasps, unthinkingly grabbing his arm to pull him inside.

“Oh this? Your father punch me,” Zoro says, touching his lip gingerly. “He seemed to think I was your, what did he say? Pimp.”

“My father?” Sanji exclaims, surprised. “Wait, you talked to him? How did you know—?”

“You signed your real name on the contract, Sanji, so I went looking for you at the Baratie.”

Sanji stares at Zoro, mouth dry. Zoro’s never said his name before—didn’t know it—and to hear him speak it now…he pulls away quickly and moves towards his small kitchen. He sees Zoro move from the corner of his eye, but Sanji simply grabs a cold pack from his freezer and turns back to Zoro.

“Sit down,” he says quietly, nodding towards the sofa. His place is less than half the size of Zoro’s, but it’s a comfortable place. He likes it—at the very least, it’s a lot warmer than Zoro’s apartment.

Zoro sits down next to him and Sanji presses the cold pack to Zoro’s mouth gently, ignoring Zoro’s searching gaze.

“I didn’t read that thing,” he finally says, speaking to Zoro’s lips. “But I still have most of the money you gave me. I’ll give it to you, and whatever I still owe you, I’ll pay back. Just give me a little time.”

“I don’t care about the money, Sanji.”

“I didn’t tell the press, I swear—.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Then why are you here!?” Sanji exclaims, finally meeting Zoro’s eyes. If not for the money, then why is Zoro here? What could he possibly want from Sanji?

“Why did you leave that day?”

He knew this was coming. He told Nami he owed Zoro an explanation, but now he can’t think of the right words to say. How does he explain himself?

“Because I couldn’t keep lying,” Sanji whispers.

Zoro huffs out a laugh, but his eyes shift, breaking their contact with Sanji’s. “I figured,” he mutters. “You know, the Baratie is special to my family. I’ll pay whatever debt your father has, in order for you family to keep it.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Sanji says quickly, but Zoro shakes his head.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to sleep with me,” he says. “I’d give you the money, but I figure that’s not something you can accept, so you can pay me back as you like.”

“You’re right, I don’t want your money.”

“It’ll save your restaurant.”

“I said I don’t want it!” Sanji exclaims.

“Then why did you sleep with me?” Zoro asks quietly, his gaze intense.

Sanji stares at Zoro, surprised. He didn’t expect that question; doesn’t want to answer that question. It’s the one question he’s been asking himself all this time, and has never answered.

“Sanji, why did you sleep with me?” Zoro asks again, grabbing Sanji’s wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. “If not for the money, why did you spent all those nights with me? Why did you go to Asia with me?”

“Because…”

He can’t say it. What’s the point of saying it? What does Zoro get out of this? Why does he want to know? It doesn’t matter.

“Sanji, if not the money, what do you want from me?” Zoro insists, leaning closer. “Why did you say yes to me, Sanji?”

“Because I wanted to, alright!” Sanji yells, pushing Zoro back. “I like you and I slept with you knowing that you only wanted sex, because I knew that’s the only thing I’d ever get from you. And I thought that was enough for me, but it wasn’t alright? I can’t sell you my feelings or my loyalty, and I can’t keep fucking pretending that I’m okay with you keeping me behind locked doors, like you’re ashamed of being seen with me or like I’m something to be used at your convenience. I wanted a real relationship—with ‘annoying feelings and shit’—but apparently, you’re willing to give that to anybody but me!”

“Sanji, I—.”

“I don’t want your money and I don’t want you coming here—.”

“ _ Sanji _ —.”

“And I don’t want you saying my name and looking at me like you fucking care!” Sanji shouts. “Because if you don’t get to be mine, then I don’t get to be yours!”

“Then I’ll be yours,” Zoro says and kisses him.

It’s a short kiss, since Zoro immediately pulls back in pain, touching his busted lip, but that kiss leaves Sanji’s lips burning hot and his heart fluttering wildly.

“What did you say?” he whispers.

“I thought you wanted money, so I gave that to you,” Zoro answers, still gingerly touching the cut on his upper lip. “I’d pay a fortune if that’s what you would’ve wanted. I thought I was a job to you, another client you  _ had _ to be with. I thought all you wanted from me was my money, and I was ready to give you all I had if it meant spending another night with you.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that. Repeatedly.” Zoro huffs out an awkward laugh.

Sanji stares at him. Zoro’s blushing, a faint dusting of pink across the bridge of his nose fading into the bruise on his temple. His lip is swollen and it’s bleeding a little, and he looks surprisingly awkward.

“So you like me.”

“I like you.” Zoro nods.

“And you want to date me?”

“I want to date you.”

Sanji nods and pulls at the bottom of his shirt. He never expected this, and now has no fucking clue how to act. Where do they go from here? Sanji half-smiles, taking comfort in the fact that Zoro looks just as awkward as Sanji feels. He hesitates, but when he leans forward, Zoro does so too. They both stop, faltering, but then lean in closer.

Sanji kisses him softly, pressing his lip to Zoro’s bottom one, careful of his cut. Zoro reaches for him, one hand easily falling on Sanji’s knee, the other taking hold of one of Sanji’s hands.

“Sanji,” Zoro breathes out and Sanji shudders at the sound of raw  _ need _ in Zoro’s voice.

“I’ll have to get used to hearing you say my name,” Sanji whispers, his lips brushing against Zoro’s when he speaks. 

Zoro pulls on his knees and Sanji obeys his silent request, moving until he’s sitting on Zoro’s lap, his knees on either side of Zoro’s legs. Zoro’s hand moves up his thigh until he’s gripping Sanji’s hip, his other hand going to the small of his back.

“Don’t worry,” he says quietly, looking straight at Sanji. “I’ll be saying it a lot.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A huge, wonderful thanks to my Beta, zosanlaw!!


End file.
